


You Don't Know Jack

by Eezo



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alcohol, F/F, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5845261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eezo/pseuds/Eezo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A resurrected Spectre and freed felon discover what they have in common.<br/>Set during ME2</p>
<p>M for language and adult content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Convict and Command

**Author's Note:**

> No copyright infringement intended. Bioware owns everything.

“She’s going to be impossible, Commander.” Miranda folded her arms, scowling after the departing convict.

“That’s the theme of this whole mission, Miranda. Besides, she was the Illusive Man’s call; your boss, remember?” Shepard rolled her shoulders, experimenting with the location and intensity of each dull pain lodged in her muscles. Shooting their way out of an exploding prison ship didn’t even make it onto her ‘Crazy Shit That Almost Got Me Killed’ list anymore, not with everything else they’d already been through. There was only one brief second in the entire day when the Commander had felt her heart stutter and race, danger prickling in cold sweat along her skin: when they caught up to Jack. The criminal had turned on them with superhuman reflexes and a glint of absolute, unapologetic murder in her eyes. Shepard had never seen anything like it.

“In this case, he may have miscalculated.” Miranda didn’t hesitate in her blunt criticism, distaste turning her melodic accent bitter. It was the first time Shepard had heard her take issue with her employer. She found it reassuring to know that the Cerberus Operative valued something above loyalty, even if it was her own arrogance.

“Just give her time to settle in. Jack’s going to be useful; she’s already shown us what she’s capable of doing.” Shepard strolled towards the conference room exit, memory flashing with bursts of explosion and the smell of charred blood still lingering in her nose.

“That’s why I’m worried.” Miranda shook her head but followed the Commander out.

Shepard took reports from Yeoman Chambers and headed to the elevator. She could review findings for an hour or two before bed and the messages all looked like they could wait until morning. Except this urgent communique from Anderson. Oh, and the encrypted cargo manifest Aria had promised her. Was this headline a story by Al-Jilani? Great, there went any thoughts of relaxing. The Commander ripped off her Cerberus jacket as she stepped into her cabin, opening the Westerlund audio article. She smirked at the tiny clips and static noises that betrayed a desperate editing job. Khalisah was pissed she couldn’t make humanity’s Spectre out to be a villain. The best she could do was try not to sound too stupid in her own interview.

“Should’ve gone with the zombie angle, Khali,” Shepard chuckled. She pulled the bottle of whiskey out of her desk’s lower drawer; a testimony to Cerberus’ painstaking attention to detail. It had originally belonged to Anderson but, like the ship and command, Shepard found herself instinctively picking up where he’d left off. Settling onto her bed, she thumbed through the remaining messages, deliberately speeding to skip past anything from Cerberus. She almost darted right past a familiar name but her eye caught it just in time and she scrolled back.

_Liara._

Shepard smiled, opening the communique from the Prothean expert turned information broker.

_‘Shepard, I’m sorry I didn’t have time to welcome you properly on Illium; to celebrate your return.’_

It was odd that even in typed words she could hear the conflicted sound of her friend’s speech. Doctor T’Soni always worked so hard at sounding poised and knowledgeable but there was an unavoidable current of hesitation beneath the confidence, doubt and uncertainty creeping into her eyes despite the cool of her voice. The asari scientist had changed so much in their short time together, each horrific revelation and brush with death drawing out the nascent strength of her nature. Yet Shepard, with a fond smile, could still see and hear the nervous doctor blushing and fumbling over her words when a simple joke shattered her calm.

_‘It was such a surprise, seeing you alive. A good surprise, of course, but shocking nonetheless. I think that I had convinced myself not to hope too much. Losing you once hurt -,’_

Shepard knew she was probably imagining it but she could almost see where that sentence had tried to finish a dozen different ways. Accusatory, tragic, sincere, grateful; how many emotions did Liara go through in that single line?

_‘ – all of us tremendously. That you died saving your crew surprises no one but please, be patient with us. Two years of grieving is a difficult habit to break. You have done the impossible once again, Shepard. I’m glad.’_

The Commander held a sip of whiskey in her mouth, wondering if it could burn away the frustrated rise of emotions on her tongue. Of course Liara would go the noble route, considering the feelings of everyone involved and not just her own. She had that selfless streak, different from any soldier’s but just as brave. She’d never gotten upset with Shepard, not once; not even when she deserved it. _Fuck, I should’ve known better. She didn’t even know what a goddamn joke was!_ The former Spectre thumped her head against the wall behind her bed, wishing for the millionth time she’d paid attention to something other than her own message of doom just long enough to notice what was going on with the sweet asari.

Nooooooo.

Kaidan had to point it out to her. In practically the same breath that he declared his own puppy-love infatuation. For a split second Shepard was genuinely clueless (or stubbornly delusional) and hoped Kaidan meant he wanted to start a relationship with Liara. She’d have given her blessing to that in a heartbeat. Alenko was sensitive and gentle, just the sort of man she’d trust to take care of a woman/alien as innocent as their Prothean expert. It would’ve been so convenient! The universe, however, was much too fond of shoving its steel-toed boot up Shepard’s unsuspecting backside. Enter not one, two or even three but _four_ horribly awkward conversations. Not into you, not into her, not into him, not into you either; she’d gone through three months of head-shrinking after Elysium and still didn’t talk as much about her feelings as she had to on _Normandy_.

Liara had been perfectly understanding, as she was about pretty much everything, and it only made Shepard feel like even more of a piece of pyjak spit. The beautiful scientist had been so kind and accepting, blaming herself for the misunderstanding and refusing to give voice to the disappointment that was so clearly eating behind her eyes. It was almost enough to make the Commander change her mind. Why couldn’t she fall in love with someone like that?

 _Because I’d destroy her._ Shepard sighed, raising her glass only to find it empty. She reluctantly got up for a refill, wishing the whiskey would turn into ryncol. Horosk would have been better but there was a fine line between relaxed and unfit for duty. Turian liquor usually leapt across that line and started a war on the other side. She poured another finger of amber relief into her glass, promising herself she’d go to sleep once it was gone.

Difficult as it had been to reject Liara there had never been a moment’s doubt in Shepard’s mind. The asari was simply too kind and innocent, like Tali. They were both so sweet and wanted desperately to help, to be the relief Shepard needed. But she knew that they’d be gentle and patient when sometimes all a soldier actually needs is to be yelled at and thrown across the room. Wrex was good for that. Too bad he was an ugly son of a bitch.

Garrus was a nice middle ground: a tough fighter who knew the type of mind it took to survive in battle and not hard on the eyes. Damned if he didn’t need someone to protect though. He had that noble streak, a hero complex that rivaled her own. If they hadn’t both been so focused on Saren and the Reapers they probably would’ve gotten themselves killed rescuing kittens from burning trees.

Kaidan and Ashley were both solid, trained Alliance soldiers; attractive, fit and deadly. That meant they could probably hold their own in bed as well as battle. Shepard just couldn’t shake the feeling they’d still be saying “yes ma’am,” even after they were naked. Some people –officers, most likely- might get off on that but the last thing she wanted was a reminder of her responsibilities. No, better that she stay Commander with everyone on duty so that she could at least be herself when she as alone.

Thinking of her former crew left Shepard with the paradox of satisfaction in her decisions but the emptiness of nostalgia. She missed them. There was a constant sense of everything being almost familiar as she felt her way along this new command.

Joker was still in the cockpit, albeit accompanied by a sensually-voiced AI that argued with him constantly. The infirmary was as homey as ever with Dr. Chakwas in charge, threatening Shepard with permanent psychological scarring if she didn’t hold still for a three minute exam. Garrus had reunited with the main battery like an estranged lover, fussing and flattering his way around the guns until he’d found and finessed every trigger. Jacob reminded the Commander of Kaidan, a welcome infusion of duty and service to the greater good balancing Cerberus’ often racist agenda. Miranda was nothing like Ashley but the flash of long dark hair that occasionally caught the corner of her eye always felt like it belonged on-board. It wasn’t home, but it was close.

The Illusive Man had a long list of allies for Shepard to gather and if the others were half as dangerous as Zaeed, Garrus and Jack then the Collectors were the least of humanity’s worries. A rogue ship of soldiers and psychopaths promised to be far more dangerous. Fun too.

Shepard felt a smile tugging one corner of her mouth as her thoughts revisited the adventures of the day. Closing her eyes she could perfectly recall the writhing, electrical current that engulfed their new friend; the raw power ripping mech and man to pieces. Biotics came in all shapes and flavors, their fields as varied as their personalities. The soldier had never seen that much naked, unapologetic violence; a sheer will to survive channeled into physical force. Jack was . . .

Shepard opened her eyes, glancing bemusedly at her glass and realizing she didn’t actually want the drink.

Jack might be exactly what she needed.

 

 


	2. Curious

Shepard had never heard the ship’s mess so noisy with something other than complaint. Sounds of surprise, wonder and suspicion rose from every table as the crew tucked into dinner. Most of the disbelief gave way to praise with only a few stubborn holdouts convinced that it was an elaborate attempt at poisoning.

“Sounds like you’re putting those new ingredients to good use, Rupert.” The Commander paused at the Mess Sergeant’s station, leaning on the counter to evaluate the tantalizing dishes. A few fresh spices and meat that didn’t look like the inside of a varren’s stomach and suddenly the man was a miracle worker.

“No kidding, I might make it through this mission without getting lynched! All thanks to you, Commander, you really came through.” Sergeant Gardner tossed off an unofficial salute; just the right balance of smart and friendly.

“I got you the stuff, you made it sing. ‘An army marches on its stomach,’ right?” Shepard straightened up. Everything smelled delicious but she honestly wasn’t hungry. Whatever void was sucking emotion out of her gut had nothing to do with food.

“That sounds familiar. Some bigshot general, wasn’t it?” Rupert’s brow furrowed as he tried to place the quote.

“Yeah. One of them.” The Commander realized that citing Napoléon Bonaparte might not have been the best military reference. Every leader is remembered by their last battle.

“So long as it was one of the winners.” Gardner couldn’t know that he was close to Shepard’s thoughts but on the wrong side. Was that all that would matter about them a few centuries from now? Would their choices get dissected, pressed through a filter of strategic analysis and motive or would people only care about the result? _Fail and no one will be around to decide._ Shepard shook herself from the darker thoughts.

“I’ll leave you to it, Sergeant. Just make sure you don’t forget to label the dextro options. I understand Chambers nearly ate some of Garrus’ eggs this morning.” How the hell the Yeomen could confuse amino acid based breakfast with the typical fare was an entirely different concern. One problem at a time.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m keeping a much closer eye,” Rupert grimaced at his own oversight, then his face lit up again, “Speaking of Mr. Vakarian, he happened to mention in passing that you’re fond of non-human beverages.”

“He just happened to bring that up, did he?” Shepard suppressed a mental groan, fully aware of the number of stories Garrus could share about her history with ‘non-human beverages.’

“I might have asked him about your preferences,” the Mess Sergeant confessed, chagrin bringing a flush of color to his ears, “I couldn’t find any turian or asari stuff on board. It is a Cerberus ship, after all, but one of the boys had this tucked away and I got him to part with it. Krogan best!”

The Commander’s eyes widened when a familiar looking bottle was extended across the counter. She was reaching for it in surprise before she’d even processed what Gardner said. Ryncol. The clever bastard.

“And just how did you convince the crewman to surrender his private stash?” Shepard wasn’t actually sure she cared. The man could tell her that he’d bludgeoned some poor kid’s head into a locker and she’d still enjoy cracking the seal.

“Nothing sinister, ma’am. Just promised him I’d make his favorite dishes for the next few weeks. Fond of Irish stew, that one,” Rupert assured her with a proud smile, clearly enjoying her delight.

“Rupert, you are a wonder.” The Commander grinned, straightening her shoulders and offering him a full-grade military salute. The cook replied in kind, every inch of his face beaming. Shepard turned to head for the lift, fingers already itching to open the bottle and get that first hint of tears in her eyes when the vapor climbed out. The elevator opened, disgorging engineers Donnelly and Daniels; arguing, as usual.

“I’m telling you, don’t go below deck without good reason is all! The drive core didn’t suddenly develop the ability to swear and EDI doesn’t have that kind of imagination.” Gabby sounded like she’d grown tired of repeating her warning.

“Maybe not, but anyone that angry could probably use a friend.” Kenneth had the incorrigible optimism of every aspiring flirt. Shepard wasn’t sure what was more ridiculous: the idea that someone angry wanted to be charmed into a good mood or that he thought he was capable of doing so.

“Engineering has a new resident?” The Commander’s interruption stopped both engineers, dragging their attention off each other.

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” Daniels had a tendency to fall back on perfect military protocol when she was surprised or uncomfortable, “One of our new allies, I believe.”

“That or a very hostile and loud ghost.” Kenneth’s muttered aside earned him Gabby’s elbow in the ribs.

“I see,” Shepard drummed her fingers absently against her thigh, “I’ll go investigate. EDI can always look up some exorcism subroutines and anything else can be handled by more conventional means.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Daniels was a fraction of a second quicker with her salute but Donnelly followed suit and they both shared a matching expression of relief.

The Commander stepped onto the lift and punched the controls without a second look. Once the doors sealed shut she allowed the smile she’d been fighting to spread completely across her face. _Gotcha._

When Jack said she didn’t care for through traffic she hadn’t been joking. The Commander had been surreptitiously hunting for the biotic ever since she came on board. In between carrying out her regular duties Shepard played an involuntary game of hide and seek, wondering just what hole the other woman had crawled into. The holds were the first place she looked but there wasn’t a trace of tattoos or rage to be found. She checked the observation lounges and supply lockers anytime she had an excuse to visit the crew deck. Even the docking bay got a look during her spare minutes before heading off on a mission. Jack had found somewhere to hide that defied anyone finding her and Shepard wasn’t sure whether she was irritated or impressed.

The elevator emptied onto the Engineering deck and the Commander confidently strode down the metal ramps and stairs to the belly of her ship. Of course Jack would find this place. Dim red light, ominous shadows, the smell of metal and grease and the pulse of raw power throbbing like a huge beast’s heart; the whole area felt like an ancient idea of Hell and Jack fit perfectly into the picture.

_Guess that makes her some kind of demon._ Shepard’s eyes lit on a still figure against one wall, the flickering light making tattooed skin look like it was slithering over her bones. Jack was sitting on a battered cot, studying a datapad without even a twitch of acknowledgment to her visitor. She had to have heard the Commander’s approach, probably knew she was coming from the first sound of footfall on the metal ramparts above. She just didn’t care.

“I see you’ve found yourself a home,” Shepard observed as she strolled into the alcove, stopping a few feet beyond the massive space bubble that radiated off the convict. There were all kinds of homes, this being the kind that promised an entire family was buried under the floor boards but that was obviously why it suited Jack so well.

“Yeah, it’s cozy.” The biotic still didn’t look up. Her posture declared that she assumed anyone and everyone would leave her alone if she just ignored them long enough. Shepard didn’t mind. Every minute that Jack wasn’t looking at her was more time for her to study the dangerous woman.

It could take days to explore her completely, to find the shape and edges of all the mysteries that she wore on her surface, let alone those she kept locked inside. She was covered in a maelstrom of designs but the longer Shepard’s eyes followed each mark, the more she began to see the livid red lines underneath. Scars; each one too surgically precise to have been an accident. Dozens, maybe hundreds of them ran the length of her body. Some were obliterated by dark color like pieces of metal, others overwritten in twining mirrors of pain, a handful not covered at all, almost lost in the nonsensical patterns. All of it coalesced into an impression of defense, opinions and experiences turned into unbreakable armor.

“Are you finding what you need?” Shepard forced her mind to cooperate, even if her eyes wouldn’t.

“Your Cerberus bitch is making sure the network works about as well as a one-finger fuck, but yeah, the stuff’s here.” Jack finally turned her attention to the Commander, catching the roving eyes with a sharp glare. Too bad the spark of anger only made the dark cinnamon color look so much brighter and no scowl could ever hide the luxurious shape of lips like hers.

“They wouldn’t let me see half that stuff. The Illusive Man must really want you on board.” Shepard didn’t shy away from the accusatory gaze. Instead she folded her arms, leaning against a support. No one wore their identity on the outside like that unless they wanted to be seen. Jack was daring the whole universe to look at her and the soldier had simply obliged.

“I don’t give a shit what the Illusive Dick wants. I signed on for one joyride, after that’s done I’m in the wind. He can go suck himself.” Jack leaned back, settling against the wall behind her cot. The line of her mouth didn’t change but the violent tension around her jaw and eyes began to lessen, tiny signs that she’d accept the Commander’s attention; for now. Shepard had the vague feeling that she’d just passed a kind of test.

“At least that would give me a rest from listening to his bullshit,” the Commander smiled when she saw a twitch like the beginning of a smirk at the edge of Jack’s lips, “Looks like you’re settling in fine. Do you want anything?”

“I dunno, Commander,” Jack put an extra twist of sarcasm into the title, eyes darting rapidly over the soldier, “I’m not the one who shows up uninvited, late at night, with a bottle of booze. Think the question is: what do _you_ want?”

Shepard had completely forgotten about the ryncol in her hand. The full force of what Jack was seeing hit her all at once and, no matter how she tried, there was no stopping the blood rushing up her neck and into her cheeks. The bloody Consort Sha’ira couldn’t get a rise out of the staid N7 officer but in less than five minutes this convict had her completely at a loss.

“A thank you from my crew,” the Commander glanced down at the bottle of alcohol, biting back excuses and apologies, “I was on my way to open it in my room when I heard you were down here and thought I’d check in. I’ll leave you to your files. Good night, Jack.”

Shepard was silently grateful that her words didn’t fumble or voice squeak from the panic that Jack’s accusation had caused. She turned to leave, cursing herself between her thoughts. For a few minutes she’d thought there was a chance of not getting tossed out, the slight hint that maybe Jack wouldn’t see her as just another enemy. The former Spectre didn’t know why that felt so important right now but she wanted to kick her own ass six ways from Sunday for screwing the chance.

“Hold up,” Jack’s voice froze her in her tracks, “You know how long it’s been since I had a drink?”

How long was the biotic in prison? How long before she was put in cryo? Shepard didn’t have any idea based on her records but the demand beneath the rasp of her voice confessed years of denial.

“You probably need it more than I do.” The Commander turned around long enough to toss the bottle. Jack caught it in one hand, confusion momentarily contorting her eyes before they vanished in a roll of irritation.

“Oh stop being such a fucking girl scout! Just sit your ass down and don’t throw up on anything,” the tattooed woman growled, fingers already ripping through the seal on the liquor. Shepard moved cautiously back into the makeshift room, scouring it for any place to sit, quickly finding that the only unoccupied surface was right next to Jack on the cot. She opted instead for the floor nearby, leaning against a support beam within an arm’s reach of the cot and its occupant.

Jack got the cap off and then sent it flying with a violent toss. The message was clear: this bottle wasn’t going to be closed again. The way the convict raised the neck to her lips and took a long pull, so many seconds Shepard’s lungs ached, only added proof.

“Shit! That’s better than I remember,” Jack gasped when she finally had to get air. She passed the bottle over to the soldier and Shepard happily mirrored her enthusiasm, drinking until it felt like her tongue was melting. The familiar pain brought with it waves of bone melting heat. Given enough time the warmth and fumes would creep into her brain, erasing thoughts, worries and (most likely) all common sense.

“I’m getting a case of this,” Shepard sighed happily, surrendering the bottle when inked fingers pried it from her own. Jack had stretched out on her bunk now, resting on her side, head propped in one hand. The Commander could barely see her from the corner of one eye, forcing herself to stare resolutely ahead rather than turn and study the biotic’s face from closer than ever.

“So, how does a human supremacist soldier get a taste for krogan moonshine?” Jack inquired, voice turning from growl to rasp as the liquor eased into her tone. 

“I'm not Cerberus, Jack. A friend of mine during my last command was a tough krogan bastard. He said you aren’t a real fighter until you can stay on your feet with a ryncol hangover. Helped me with my head-butting too, it’s harder than it looks.” Shepard ran a hand along her forehead, recalling the first half dozen times she’d almost broken her skull trying to imitate the krogan gesture.

“Useful guy,” the convict observed, noncommittal.

“Yeah, right up to the moment he pulls a gun on me at the edge of a war zone and I’m thinking I have to shoot him.” She could still recall the sound of Wrex’s weapon powering up, the ice that settled around her nerves as she realized exactly what was about to happen. Saving a friend in battle was one thing, saving them from themselves . . .

“Did you?” Jack must have heard the realities of the past creeping into Shepard’s words. Figures she’d scythe straight through to the only part that mattered.

“No,” the Commander paused, remembering how she’d dropped her weapon and prayed, “He was a stubborn ass but he wasn’t dumb. He did things my way. Which was a damn lucky thing for him. You should’ve seen his face when he turned around and saw one of my lieutenants’ had a gun on him the whole time.”

“Guess I’ll watch my back around you then,” the graveled chuckle fell into another long swallow.

The two of them drank in silence for some time; Shepard measured the passing minutes by the dwindling level of liquor in the bottle. It was surprisingly comfortable, sitting on the floor with cold metal biting into her spine, trading a bottle of nearly toxic alcohol back and forth with one of humanity’s most dangerous felons. Right now, no one would believe she was Commander Shepard, Council Spectre and Savior of the Citadel. Which meant she could just be.

The ryncol was half gone before Jack spoke again.

“Shit’s decent enough but you want a real drink you need to get some bina.” The convict regarded the bottle of sloshing liquor in her fist.

“You drink volus? I thought that stuff was poison to humans.” Shepard was no stranger to deadly beverages but there were some that even she wasn’t dumb enough to try without a medical team on standby. She turned to regard the relaxing biotic, momentarily forgetting their conversation when her eyes fell on the perfect curl of her sarcastic smile.

“Hey, what doesn’t kill you, right? Besides, I really look like the white wine spritzer type?” Jack’s eyebrow shot high in challenge.

“No,” the soldier admitted, tongue heavy in her mouth, “But looks can be deceiving.”

“Not with me,” the tattooed biotic dismissed the objection with a shrug, “What you see is what you get.”

“Promise?” Shepard didn’t even realize the word was on her lips until it had already spilled out. She’d been raking her gaze over the convict’s skin, tracing her tattoos, wondering what they would feel like beneath her fingers. As predicted, her common sense had vanished with the ryncol and she couldn’t even be bothered to care.

Jack turned to look down at her, dark eyes alive with a dangerous temptation. She obviously knew exactly what Shepard was thinking. The shock was that she hadn’t already warped the soldier into the drive core. If anything, she seemed amused.

“You’re going to have to try a lot harder to get me drunk first,” Jack laughed. It was the first true, easy, full-throated release of pleasure that Shepard had heard from the woman and it made her fingers spasm around the neck of the ryncol bottle. That laugh, holy hell! The rasping sound was like a lover’s hitched surprise, the purr of pleasure that begged and threatened all at once.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Shepard managed to force words across her dry lips, each one feeling like the drag of sandpaper in her mouth. Dark eyes meeting hers felt like they were setting off a cascade of explosions within her head, electricity racing dangerously along her skin. She had no idea how Jack was doing this to her; how a few simple words could rip away any sense of ration or calm. She only knew that she wanted to see just how far it could go.

“Good. Now give me that damned bottle.” Jack leaned over, wrapped her hand around Shepard’s on the bottle and held for a split second longer than necessary before yanking the drink away. Shepard let go without a fight and leaned back against the wall once more, closing her eyes to steady her thoughts. Whatever game they’d begun, Jack had won this round.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Experimenting with this pair. Comments and thoughts welcome.


	3. Assumptions

“I knew it wouldn’t be long before I got replaced by someone prettier.” Garrus shot Shepard a wink as he walked into the armory, heading straight for a tool bench with his favorite rifle in hand.

“Don’t be silly, Garrus,” the Commander smirked, clipping into her boots, “No one’s prettier than you. At least, not when you have a gun.”

“Sure, that’s why you were always ditching my ass to run off with Ashley and Liara on every mission you could.” The turian’s own smile was harder to see but she could hear it in his voice.

“I said you were pretty, I never said anything about your ass. Both of them were _much_ more fun to run behind,” Shepard laughed. She wouldn’t have made the joke if anyone else were in the room, still too edgy around the Cerberus crew. It was nice that for now it was just the two of them. She always came down early to suit up before missions. Garrus was familiar with that habit, which meant he wasn’t really here to tinker with his sniper scope.

“You sure those two are the best to take planet-side, Shepard? Going after a krogan warlord in a Blue Suns camp; I’d want bullets, not biotics.” As lighthearted as the teasing criticism sounded, the hint of sincere concern underneath was touching.

“I need to see how Jack handles herself.” Shepard shrugged, the gesture mostly lost as she was busy sliding into her chestplate.

“Oh? I didn’t know you ran through the wreckage of Purgatory with your eyes closed.” Garrus stopped fussing with his rifle now, turning to lean against the bench and wait for a real answer.

“Under command, Garrus. I have to see how she does with orders.” The Commander was well aware of the total carnage and destruction Jack could wreak on enemies. Now she needed to find out if it could be reined in.

“She does seem to have a few issues with authority,” the sniper thoughtfully agreed, “Is that why you’re also taking along our resident control freak?”

“Might as well identify problems early on,” Shepard smiled but didn’t deny his assessment of Miranda’s role, “We’ll have to work out any kinks before we try to take on the Collectors.”

“True,” Garrus’ mandible fluttered on one side, “Those two definitely strike me as the kinky type.”

“You’re as bad as Joker,” Shepard groaned, slapping at him with her empty gauntlet.

“Good. Someone has to make sure you smile occasionally and it certainly won’t be your new squad mates. They’ll be arguing before you’re on the shuttle.” The turian deftly evaded her pathetic assault.

Before Shepard could reply, the door behind them hissed open and another voice overruled their conversation.

“I don’t fucking wear armor!” Jack stomped in, every word snapping out of her mouth like bites.

“You don’t wear _anything_.” Miranda was right on her heels, arguing back with the same cold, condescending calm that permeated everything she did.

“Anything that can get past my barriers ain’t going to be stopped by a couple inches of plates.” The tattooed woman went right past Shepard and Garrus, yanking open the weapons locker. Shepard felt a cold chill raise the hairs on her neck when the convict grabbed a gun, wondering if she was actually going to shoot Miranda this very instant.

“That kind of arrogance gets people killed.” The Cerberus operative completely ignored the weapon and murderous glint, stalking right up to the same locker and slamming it shut.

“Only if they get in my way,” Jack growled back. She tried to jerk the metal door open again but Miranda’s hand held it fast.

“I will not let your bloody death wish put this mission at risk.” The brunette didn’t even blink at the snarl of anger that ripped across Jack’s face, now just inches from her own.

“The only death I’m wishing for is yours, Cheerleader. Back. The fuck. Up.” The tattooed woman emphasized every word with a pulse of her biotics, each brighter than the last. It had been ridiculous to think that Jack would resort to a gun to kill Miranda. She could tear her apart with bare hands. The Commander glanced over to Garrus, seeing the clear glint of laughter in his eyes and a silent smirk of I Told You So.

“Enough warmup,” Shepard’s voice scythed through the crackling hostility, “How about you two save some of this for the mercs we’re about to fight?”

“Commander -,” Miranda began to protest but she was cut off with a sharp gesture.

“Jack’s an experienced fighter, Miranda. If she’s used to battle without gear then armor is just going to slow her down, could even be what gets her hurt instead.” The Commander rendered her verdict, relieved to see that even though Lawson’s jaw twitched to argue, she held her tongue.

“Very well, Commander.” Miranda nodded her assent.

“Shit, that’s more like it.” Jack’s lips curled up at one corner. Her eyes darted to Shepard, a glint of surprised approval slithering across the dark color.

“However,” Shepard saw both women freeze, faces turning to her expectantly, “Jack, if you get hurt on this mission, on _any_ mission, you’re going to have to start gearing up, same as everyone else.”

“That seems fair.” Miranda’s own smirk wasn’t as feral as Jacks, but every bit as smug. She peeled her hand off the weapons locker, just slowly enough to make it clear that she was backing away but not backing down.

 _One disaster averted,_ Shepard breathed out a small sigh of relief, _And only two minutes into the mission._ It was a pretty safe bet that she would be returning to the _Normandy_ with a migraine. Obviously, it had been ludicrous to hope that the two women wouldn’t start fighting until there was an actual reason but she’d underestimated them. Shepard finished strapping on her gear and joined Jack at the weapons locker, leaning past her to reach her assault rifle and pausing while she was hidden by the metal door.

“You could’ve made my life a lot easier if you’d just agreed to wear a vest or something,” Shepard muttered a quiet reproach, careful to keep her voice so low that only Jack could hear.

“I’m not here to make your life easy, Shepard,” Jack scoffed, pinning her with a glare while she grabbed a shotgun. Close up weapon, messy; it fit her style.

“No, but you’re definitely going to make it interesting,” the Commander shrugged, accepting the blunt answer without a blink, “So don’t get shot. I’ll never hear the end of it from Miranda.”

The Spectre enjoyed seeing a glimpse of confusion in Jack’s face before she pulled her last weapon and turned away. The criminal radiated an absolute conviction that all people were shit, and predictable shit at that; it was rewarding to see her world view tilted, even if it was only for a second. They’d barely spoken yet; a handful of sentences swapped over that bottle of ryncol, just getting a feel for each other’s silence. A few more evenings like that and then they’d be ready to start asking questions and lying.

“So, who’s in charge down there at the base?” Shepard turned to Miranda, bringing her attention back to the mission at hand.

“Jedore is the commander. I compiled a report for you, like you asked,” the operative’s tone straddled the line between irritated and accusatory, “But when I brought it up you weren’t in the CIC. Or your quarters.”

The Commander found Miranda studying her, gaze equal parts suspicion and reproach. The brunette didn’t have to clarify her unspoken question, it was perfectly clear for all to hear. _Where were you?_ Shepard’s brain went into a rapid cascade of split decision analysis. Half of her wanted to tell Miranda she’d been down in the lower levels with Jack. She was the XO, she had every right to know what was happening on the ship. More than that, there was real worry under the icy calm of her crystal eyes, worry that Shepard could erase with a simple answer.

Unfortunately, that was also why the other half of her brain rebelled; screamed that Miranda already acted like a heavily-armed nanny when she had no right. The woman had spent two years of her life making sure that Shepard was safe, whole, _alive._ That couldn’t be an easy habit to break. The mixture of emotions in her eyes at times like this, equal parts calculated and concerned, never gave the soldier any hint of what she was actually thinking. Shepard couldn’t tell if Miranda saw her as the Illusive Man’s investment, a hope for humanity, a child to be protected or a prize to polish.

“She was with me.” Jack’s voice ended the debate in Shepard’s head. The Commander’s attention snapped around so fast that her vision momentarily blurred. Did Jack just -? The biotic clipped in her ammo and holstered her weapons, snapping them in with the same finality as her answer. The tattoos spelling death rested on her hip, cocked in challenge like the arch of one brow.

“I see.” Miranda managed to roll the two simple words off her tongue the same way she’d scrape guts off her shoes. Shepard knew she should jump in and clarify but the wicked mischief in Jack’s eyes had her too curious to interfere. She bit her tongue as the heavily inked biotic strolled past her, slow and close enough to deliberately brush arms.

“Yeah, that reminds me: I had fun last night, Shepard. We should do it again,” the convict casually tossed the comment over her shoulder, eyes bright with fiery thoughts, “Soon. Unless the Cheerleader minds?”

Shepard swallowed back her own response, mouth too slow and dry to speak anyway. Jack was obviously playing a game but she played it so very, very well. That raspy voice turned every innocent word into suggestion or threat, constantly moving between growl and purr and the Commander couldn’t help but wonder what it would sound like breathless. The heated gaze might’ve been alight with the fire of battle and danger but it still smoldered like burning coal and Shepard knew she’d melted just a little at the sight.

“The Commander of the ship can spend her off-duty time anyway she sees fit,” Miranda kept her cool despite the provocation, but the ice in her face cracked enough for a sneer, “Even if she wants to waste it with a known psychopath.”

“Sorry, Princess, not everyone can get off on crushing coal into diamonds with their ass like you.” Jack’s taunt gave way to a raspy chuckle, delighting in the revulsion that Miranda could no longer contain.

That was the game. Poking for triggers, testing the edge of boundaries the same way a child toes the line of forbidden territory. She’d successfully found the limit of Miranda’s patience and her eyes took on a triumphant glint because she knew she’d broken a fraction of the poised woman’s control. The operative turned her scathing glare away from Jack, who was utterly immune to its effect anyway, and found the Commander instead.

“Do what you want, Shepard, but at least make sure she’s had all her shots. I didn’t waste two years of my life with you just so could die of some rabid varren disease.” Miranda cast one last disgusted look at the convict.

Jack stopped laughing when the surprise of that revelation hit the air. Oddly, for one second, Shepard thought the two women shared the exact same facial expression: surprise masked beneath irritated skepticism. It was like being caught between two competing sharks. One faulty assumption had obviously led to two and, if they weren’t stopped, a whole cascade of wrong conclusions could end up with the ship getting destroyed in a biotic war.

Shepard opened her mouth but was startled to find her voice had become disturbingly sensual.

“We have entered the orbit of Korlus. Your shuttle is ready for launch, Commander.” EDI’s calm voice did little for the tension in the room and before the Spectre could frame a reply, the rest of her team was already marching out. Miranda’s typically efficient saunter was even more clipped than usual, nearly a march. Jack stormed at the same speed, heavy footfall defying anyone to dare get in her way.

Shepard rubbed the back of her neck, aware that she’d missed her window of opportunity. She started to follow her squad but a quick grip caught her arm and she glanced over her shoulder to see Garrus. He looked just as confused as she felt and she knew the question before he even had to ask.

“I didn’t sleep with her, Garrus,” Shepard shook her head, adamant to establish the truth at least once.

“Which one?” The turian’s head cocked slightly to one side, amused by the consternation eating across his friend’s face.

“Neither of them!” The Commander shouted, slightly louder than necessary and she knew the blood hammering in her ears was as much from the flush of her cheeks as the anger starting to pulse under her skin.

“Too bad,” Garrus’ teasing chuckle did wonders for calming Shepard’s embarrassed temper, “But until you tell them otherwise, they just found one more thing to fight about.”

“They aren’t going to fight over me.” Shepard rolled her eyes even as a tiny, subversive voice in her head writhed in delight at the very idea. Jack was all apathy and independence, aloof and rebellious. What would jealousy look like when painted in that skin?

“Over you? No,” Garrus agreed, bursting Shepard’s miniscule bubble, “Over your corpse, perhaps. If those two ever come to blows it’s going to destroy everything and everyone around them.”

“I’ll get it sorted out. Before they kill each other,” the Commander promised. Whether she was assuring Garrus or herself was hard to say.

“If anyone can,” the turian didn’t have to finish that thought, hand squeezing briefly before pulling away, “Good luck down there.”

Shepard nodded her thanks and marched out to join the others in the docking bay. She knew Garrus as well as he knew her; she didn’t have to ask to know that he meant more than just the mission.

 

ooo.oo0.o00.000.00O.0OO.OOO.OO0.O00.000.00o.0oo.ooo.

Shepard had been right about returning to the _Normandy_ with a migraine. Except it had nothing to do with Jack or Miranda and revolved exclusively around the headache now sitting in their cargo bay. The two biotic women had actually shocked their Commander by staying focused on the mission and ignoring each other completely. They argued and sniped at one another on the shuttle ride down but once boots hit dirt, it was all business. Bloody, loud, explosive business.

It got worse the further they got into the facility. Jedore’s voice chanting propaganda did little for any of them but Jack was snarling back, cursing beneath her breath as if the disembodied voice was trying to get in her head. Then they hit the labs and Shepard thought the tattooed biotic might lose control. The Commander barely had time to aim before warps were ripping enemies out of hiding, slamming them into walls or impaling them on broken metal. Jack wasn’t even using her gun anymore, just flailing raw power with her bare hands. She nearly killed Okeer. There was such hate in her face when they found the warlord in his lab, her violent need to rip him to pieces was barely held in check by Shepard’s body standing in her way.

Recalling that visceral violence made it all the more surreal to find Jack so calm now. No one who’d seen her frenzied, almost uncontrollable attacks, would be able to reconcile them with the woman sitting so still on the edge of her cot, no movement besides the flicker of her eyes over data in her hand.

“Hey.” Jack looked up as soon as Shepard entered her alcove. That was already an improvement.

“Tell me about you, Jack.” The Commander kept her request halfway between inquiry and command. The biotic’s agitation on Korlus had worried her but being too pushy would only put her on the defensive.

“I’m still finding out about me,” Jack held up one of the many datapads scattered around her space, “Thanks for letting me look at these files.”

Shepard couldn’t imagine that the convict had bothered to say ‘thank you’ many times in her life. It sounded alien on lips better shaped for curses and threat. What had she found that she was already thankful for?

Cerberus. It all came back to Cerberus somehow. Shepard prodded, feeling for the safe edges around shattered glass. Raised in a research facility. Her blood went cold as the harsh truth rolled so easily off Jack’s tongue. No wonder she’d reacted so badly on the planet, rage progressing from hostile to homicidal as they moved deeper into labs that had created, shaped and ultimately rejected hundreds of living beings. But where Jack’s seething hatred had been raw and overpowering on Korlus, now she was calm. Cold and hard as the bullets she wanted to put in every enemy that had ever crossed her path.

There was a casual swagger to her movements as she rose and strolled to the far edge of the alcove, a sensual pleasure in the way she pulled her gun, caressing the feel of revenge. Her whole life had been defined by what Cerberus did to her, what she’d had to do to stay free and alive. Between the simplified, vague answers full of bitterness and malice there were silent details; painful and inescapable as the scars that covered her skin. Shepard bit the inside of her cheek, balling one fist to hold back the chorus of questions piling up behind her teeth. The grip of Jack’s fingers wrapped so strong and affectionately around her gun, fondling the trigger like she could see her first victim; the woman didn’t want to think about history and answers right now. Her mind was firmly set on future death.

“You don’t have to live in this pit, you know.” Shepard needed to change the subject. They had to talk about something else before her curiosity got the better of her or she said something stupid like how she was sorry for what Jack went through. Jack didn’t strike her as the type to like pity.

“It’s dark, quiet and hard to find. That spells safety to me.” Jack’s eyes finally left her weapon and turned to Shepard. In the glow of the drive core the Commander couldn’t actually see her face, the expression on her mouth or the thoughts in her eyes. She could only see Jack holstering the weapon, striding rapidly forward before suddenly leaping into the air. The biotic landed smoothly on the counter closest to Shepard, forcing the soldier to stifle her defensive reflexes down to a twitch.

Jack’s body language had changed. As she spun out ideas of going rogue, taking the _Normandy_ and wreaking havoc on the galaxy as pirates, her danger shifted flavors. The avenging demon gave way to wicked temptation. Her eyes danced over Shepard, cataloguing every breath and nuance.

“I could help.” Jack’s voice was low and teasing and she leaned ever so slightly forward, lips parted like there was one last promise left unspoken. Her whole body was coiled, predatory, ready to lunge at any moment. She was trying to put Shepard on the defensive. The biotic had learned Miranda’s buttons and how far she could push. _Now she’s trying to find mine._

“You’d be my first mate?” Shepard could keep the smirk off her lips but not out of her voice. The teasing reply was obviously not what Jack had expected.

“I’d handle boarding parties,” the convict corrected, sliding off the table before an evil smile crept back over her features, “And executions.”

What had started as Jack’s attempt to find Shepard’s boundaries had backfired. The Commander now knew one of hers. _More comfortable with killing than sex._ Shepard filed the mental note as the other woman shrugged off any concern about her murderous philosophy. She could play the sensual card, exploit the weapon of her body without hesitation but the second it stopped being a battle, she drew back. Everything with Jack was a fight. It was going to be hell, trying to convince her that no one on the _Normandy_ wanted to be her enemy. Other than Miranda.

The thought of the Cerberus operative and this morning’s debacle in the armory flooded Shepard with chagrin. She still had to fix that. She had already said good bye for the evening and was several steps away before her military discipline kicked in and swung her back around.

“Jack, what Miranda said this morning,” Shepard hated that Jack’s face had gone back to the apathetic scowl that hardly ever left her lips, “I was dead,” that at least got a flicker of curiosity out of those scornful eyes, “She was in charge of the team that brought me back and it took two years. I never met her until they woke me up a couple weeks ago.”

“What the fuck do I care?” Jack sneered, bored with the entire topic. The Commander wanted to think that she saw a slight movement under the tension in her tattooed shoulders, the faintest motion of a breath like relief but she was probably imagining it.

“Doesn’t matter,” Shepard shrugged one shoulder, feeling lighter with that truth explained, “I just wanted you to know. I’d hate for you to think I have bad taste.”

Shepard waited, breath held. Jack’s scowl began to curl, first at one edge, then the other and then she was finally smiling, a short laugh bursting out on a puff of breath.

“Alright, so now I know. Thanks and good fucking night.” The biotic stretched out on her cot, closing her eyes to emphasize the dismissal. Shepard grinned, leaving as suggested. She glanced one last time over her shoulder before Jack was completely out of view. She had a beautiful smile.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never done a story that ran through game rather than occurring after. Hopefully I'm not confusing anyone with the order of events/conversations. All comments and criticisms welcome - Jack and Miranda both have very strong personalities and I want to make sure neither seems OoC


	4. Afterlife

The throb of heavy music was loud enough to be felt outside the doors of Afterlife. Shepard walked in, immediately swallowed up in the sensual, driving beat and mysterious lighting. A place like this wanted everyone to feel like they were in the shadows, in the secretive dark where all the best and worst parts of life happened. The club’s name always struck her as particularly fitting. Winding her way through the crowd of drugged dancers, loud revelry and silhouettes of strippers writhing larger than life in the middle of it all, Shepard knew this was everyone’s idea of either heaven or hell.

The Commander could feel eyes on her. The performers, the regulars and definitely the bartender whose throat bobbed nervously as she approached his counter; they all recognized who she was. There was one set of eyes that she knew wouldn’t even bother looking at her though, a watcher who would’ve known the second she walked in but wouldn’t be seen. That was who she needed.

“What can I get you?” The bartender was trying to sound casual, polishing a glass like she was any other customer. She could see his hands shaking ever so slightly. A hard look at his face placed him in her memory: just a few feet away when that batarian idiot slipped her a toxic cocktail. Too bad he hadn’t counted on her body’s experience with lethal drinks.

“Something that won’t make me want to kill you.” Shepard’s smile was more fang than friendly. The bartender nodded, quickly setting down a clean glass and rummaging in the bottles on the highest shelf behind him.

“I get the feeling you’ve got history here, Shepard.” Jack leaned one elbow on the bar, looking out across the sea of faces that were all pretending not to watch. The bartender slid over a glass with a generous pour of something very expensive. No one poisoned the top shelf booze.

“That’s one word for it.” Jacob rolled his eyes, the weary tone of his voice reminding the Commander far too much of a disappointed parent. She winked at him, slamming back the drink in a single shot. Noverian rum. At least triple filtered and probably aged for longer than she’d been alive. A little too smooth for her taste but Shepard took it as a good sign. She wouldn’t be getting pours from Aria’s most expensive (and probably private) stock unless the pirate queen of Omega had given permission. That meant the asari not only knew she was here, she’d been expecting her.

A hand slithered up Shepard’s shoulder and before she could throw it off, fingers had gripped invitingly into the back of her neck, turning her to see unfamiliar, impossibly blue eyes set in teal.

“Commander,” the asari dancer purred her name and pressed in close to her side, “Are you here for a repeat performance?”

Shepard opened her mouth to reply and the alien seized the opportunity, surging up to cover her mouth and pull her into a deep, breathless kiss. She was vaguely aware of a choked sound of irritation on her right, Jacob as annoyed as ever. From the left, beyond the lithe body pressed so tantalizingly against her, there was a raspy chuckle and an encouraging mutter. Shepard herself was torn between twin spikes of fury and excitement at the sudden assault.

The soldier, to her credit, didn’t drop her glass; not even when a deliberately artful scrape of teeth dared her to seize hold of the maiden with both hands. She needed a reaction. Shepard could tell that the asari was trying to rip a hole in some part of her discipline to get results, no matter how small. _She’s watching_. The Commander couldn’t help smiling, even though it pulled her lips away from the sensual indulgence making such a calculated, experienced attack on her mouth. Her free hand trailed up blue flesh, grazing the sensitive creases that spread into crests. The right balance of touch, teasing to firm, tender to demand, quickly reversed the role of the kiss. Shepard felt a whisper of air across her tongue, a gasp swallowed between their mouths and only then did she pull away, hand still cradling the back of the asari’s neck to keep her grounded.

“I’m sure I’d enjoy a repeat of anything you’re offering but we both know I’ve never met you before,” the soldier pointed out the error just loud enough for her two companions to hear, then she dropped her voice, “Aria sent you?”

“She wanted you to feel welcome.” The dancer licked her lips, a little dazed by the spectacular backfire.

“Isn’t that nice. Tell you what, how about you give my friend here a demonstration of your skills while I go see just how welcome I really am?” Shepard stepped away from the asari, gently nudging her towards Jacob instead. She deliberately ignored the alien’s disappointed pout, focusing instead on the shock that exploded in her crewman’s eyes. She bit her tongue to keep from laughing.

“No! No, no, not a chance, Shepard. I don’t need your seconds.” Jacob was already trying to back away. For a trained Alliance soldier he was doing a piss poor job of it, blocked by the bar stool behind him and the nubile body closing in.

“Lieutenant Taylor,” the Commander barked his rank, training making him snap to obedient attention, “The Queen of Omega is obviously feeling generous. It wouldn’t be wise to appear ungrateful.”

“Commander-.” Jacob tried once more, eyes pleading as the dancer plastered herself to the front of his armor. He couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable getting hugged by a scion. Shepard leaned in close, making sure only he could hear her.

“You don’t have to touch, Jacob. Just try to look like you’re enjoying yourself. Otherwise that girl is going to get punished and sold to the lowest scum on this station.” Shepard was aware that the asari maiden was likely decades older than either of them. Even so, there was something impossibly young and innocent about her, no matter her age she was barely more than a child and Shepard would be damned if she got hurt for not doing a loathsome job right. Jacob didn’t reply, but the set of his jaw and single tight nod promised that he understood.

Shepard offered a grateful smile, pleased to see that the Cerberus agent had enough compassion to want to protect everyone, not just humans. There was hope for him after all. The soldier started to walk away but a hand caught her arm, a light touch only long enough to pull her attention back.

“Want me to come along or are you planning to get me a lap dance too?” Jack’s eyebrow quirked up, teasing without giving any hint of which choice she’d prefer.

“Aria doesn’t like crowds. Anything beyond her bodyguards and personal dancers, anyway. Stay here. Have a drink on me.” Shepard glanced at the nervous bartender, seeing his rapid nod of assent.

Jack’s eyes wrinkled slightly in irritation, disappointed at being left out of the fun but she wasn’t about to turn down the consolation prize. She slid onto a stool and cussed thoroughly at all the expensive bottles that the barman was pulling out, insisting on something that could do more damage. Shepard smiled as she turned to walk away, wondering if Jack wouldn’t actually prefer some of that batarian poison.

“Aria’s busy,” Anto bristled when Shepard came up the stairs and started past him. He moved to block her and she paused, unconsciously squaring her jaw and tilting her face into just the right angle of challenge. She picked the lower pair of eyes and stared hard at him, waiting for the inevitable. Of Aria’s henchman, she preferred Grizz; batarians always seemed suspect. Two sets of eyes tended to make her think there were two sets of thoughts. Most of the time she stifled the urge to engage in such racial profiling but Anto just plain smelled wrong. Eventually she’d figure out why. Or Aria would and he’d disappear.

The batarian was perfectly willing to hold Shepard’s staring contest until the universe began to collapse, but a chirp in his earpiece dragged his attention away. He grumbled unhappily, questioning the command but a long string of indecipherable abuse on the other end made him cringe. The henchman gave in with a mumbled affirmative, fixing Shepard with a harsh glare but jerking his head in permission. The Commander smiled, sauntering past him without a second glance.

Aria T’Loak had the body of a dancer, the mind of a warlord and the spirit of a venomous snake. Shepard had liked her the instant they met. Equal parts dictator, strategist, seductress and assassin. She was a perfect sociopath, the kind that cared only about herself and therefore didn’t bother going out of her way to hurt others unless it was necessary. Unless they were stupid enough to come after her first.

“Shepard.” Aria’s greeting was about as warm as scrap metal on an ice giant, eyes shifting to acknowledge the soldier with cool calculation.

“Aria, thanks for the welcome. Not really my type though.” Shepard slid onto the couch without waiting for permission. Aria was all about small tests and games for dominance; the Commander knew that taking those tricks away threw her off, kept her intrigued. If she’d dared such presumption during their first few meetings she probably would have had half a dozen guns firing at her, or just one blue fist closing on her throat. Now, however, Aria allowed her these indulgences, the small flouts of her authority that gave an illusion of being equals.

“So I see. Should I have sent one of my boys instead?” The asari’s markings moved like a question above her eyes, watching for minute tells in Shepard’s smile.

“Maybe next time. I’m sure Jack would love the chance to rip one of them to shreds.” The reply was too vague for an answer. Knowledge was power for Aria and the Commander wasn’t about to give her an extra ounce.

“What do you want, Shepard?” The impatient question was no different than any other time the soldier showed up uninvited in Afterlife, radiating an authority and threat that rivaled Aria’s own. Odd, though, that every time Shepard heard the question, she found less irritability around the edge of the words, apathy slowly giving way to curiosity.

“I assume the merc bands have gotten back to their usual business now that Archangel is out of the way?” The former Spectre danced around the demand. Her hostess would be suspicious no matter what she said; this simply bought Shepard more of the intrigue that made her too interesting to kill.

“At least they’re dying a little more slowly. Bastards are still moving product too damn slow with their asses all in slings.” Aria admitted, eyes narrow as she watched Shepard, trying to divine the direction of the conversation.

“And the mining? Is productivity up since half the workers aren’t sick with that plague?” Shepard knew she could never look innocent so she fought to just keep her expression neutral. Apparently she couldn’t even do that, the Queen of Omega’s lips turning into a dark smirk as she read the soldier’s thoughts.

“You want a pat on the head, go talk to the Council, Shepard. I don’t give out gold stars for helping yourself.” The asari leaned back into her couch, stretching ever so slightly like a jungle cat comfortable in her domain.

“I helped you as much as myself, Aria, and I did it three feet away from a vorcha with a flamethrower while your royal ass was wearing a groove into its leather throne.” The Commander smirked at Aria’s sudden glare. It was a dangerous move but what wasn’t with this woman? Shepard had accumulated a healthy bank of the pirate’s good will, helping her keep her outlaw station running in top condition and her authority supreme. Time to see what that bought her.

“I don’t bother getting my hands dirty when there are people like you so eager to do the jobs. Not that there’s much left for you to do around here. You might have outlived your usefulness.” Threat rolled like daggers along Aria’s icy tone, a slight shift in her body language already summoning her henchmen closer. The sound of safeties clicking off came from several directions at once. Shepard didn’t look at any of them; she kept her eyes fixed on the glacial blue boring into her.

“Maybe,” the Commander agreed, shrugging one shoulder, “But you don’t know for sure. The Queen of Omega doesn’t throw away anything she can use. Like Patriarch, right? So you can just tell your guards to put their dicks away before I get nervous and decide to go for my gun too. Blood baths are bad for business during happy hour.”

Aria didn’t reply. She held Shepard’s gaze, peeling through the layers of thought and emotion in her eyes to reach the real motives underneath. The soldier let her search, knowing she’d never find the answer but also wouldn’t see a threat. Gradually, without a word, a truce was reached. A subtle tilt of the asari’s head told her men to stand down and Shepard moved her own hand away from her M-6.

“If you’re offering to be of use in the future, it’s because you want something now. Something more than a lap dance and drink.” Aria’s hand waved at one of the servers, a languid gesture that made a tray of glasses appear almost instantly before them.

“Maybe I want several of both,” Shepard teased, waiting for the club owner to take her drink first before she grabbed one of the others. She’d pushed Aria far enough tonight, now it was time for a touch of diplomacy. The Queen’s cunning saw through flattery, but her ego still enjoyed deference.

“You’re a rogue Alliance soldier working with a human terrorist cell. You aren’t here for alien ass,” Aria’s eyes casually roamed the area as she ticked off the known facts, “Which means it’s some other vice you’re after. You don’t look like a tripper and Hallex would fuck up your command. Are you really going to bore me with a demand for simple alcohol?”

“No,” Shepard shook her head, tossing back a burning shot before reaching for another, “I want complicated alcohol, the kind that’s illegal in most of Council space. Besides, we’re on the ass end of the galaxy here, you think I can pick up horosk at the supply depot?”

Aria stared at the soldier for a long, unblinking moment; long enough to make Shepard nervous. Then she burst into sharp, throaty laughter. Shepard had never heard such a sound, had never heard anything beyond the ironic chuckle or dismissive barks that punctuated Aria’s typical cynicism.

“You’ve really got a quad, Shepard. Coming up here and starting shit just so you can get plastered? You could’ve just bought what you wanted at the bar.” Aria’s rebuke held no hostility, genuinely amazed that the human would go to these dangerous and complicated lengths for such a simple need.

“But then I wouldn’t have seen you, Aria.” The soldier made sure to put extra charm into her smile. Even though the other woman clearly saw through her façade, she seemed to appreciate the effort.

“Save that damn look for the maidens,” Aria rolled her eyes but a residual amusement still lingered at the edge of her scowl, “So you want horosk. What else?”

“That rotgut the vorcha make. Tastes like varren piss.” Shepard finally felt comfortable enough to settle back against the couch. She was starting to understand why Aria liked this piece of furniture so much.

“Some of it is made from varren piss,” the asari corrected but looked genuinely impressed by the human’s taste.

“Burukh and ryncol, anything batarian you can get your hands on. Not the shard wine, though, that’s easy enough to get in Council space. I only want the hard stuff.” The Commander listed off suggestions, leveling a warning glare with her instructions. If Aria went cheap and sent her the weak ass drinks she could get in any bar on the Citadel she’d personally come back to blow up Omega.

“Noted. I’ll have a few mixed cases put together.” Aria was gathering her blasé armor back around herself, locking away the part of her personality that had enjoyed this particular exchange. That meant Shepard was about to be dismissed.

“Some bina too,” the soldier added, hoping she kept the request casual. Aria’s brow twisted once more in mild surprise, eyes narrowing to gauge whether Shepard was playing a joke.

“Volus booze,” Aria snorted skeptically, “You want ammonia liquor that’s toxic to humans?”

“All liquor is toxic, Aria.” Shepard refused to flinch away from the scrutiny that was boring into her once again. She didn’t dare let her eyes drift to the lower level, to her allies; to Jack, who apparently had a taste for drinks that could kill ordinary people. If Aria thought this was about anyone else, anything other than the human soldier’s own self-destructive tastes, she’d be too close to knowing a secret. The pirate queen could sense weakness the way predators smelled fear and Shepard wasn’t going to give her a target.

The stalemate held for longer than either of them imagined, silence stretching on across the beats of the club music below. Shepard could see the question in Aria’s eyes, suspicion spinning pieces of fact like broken bits of glass, trying to see how they fit together. She was seeing the frayed edges of Shepard’s deception, the gaps where something important was being left out. The clenching twitch of Aria’s jaw warned that words were on the tip of her tongue and she balled her fists, trying to arrange lies in her mouth without letting them bleed out her eyes.

Neither of them got a chance to speak.

“I said: fuck OFF!” The angry roar accompanied a wave of blue energy exploding up from the lower level.

Shepard and Aria both turned to look below, instantly spying the turian being turned into a living bar rag by a mass effect field pummeling him across the counters. Jack was wreathed in crackling energy, the raw power snapping angrily behind her teeth with every shouted curse. Shepard searched the crowd for Jacob, finding him already engaged hand-to-hand with another turian and trying to keep him away from Jack. Whether for her sake or to keep the death toll to a minimum, the Commander couldn’t be sure.

“One of yours?” Aria asked, the mocking tone just teetering on the edge of weary as she watched two of her guards try to rush the biotic and get blasted across the bar.

“She’s not anybody’s.” Shepard shook her head, unable to tear her eyes away from the power being unleashed. Jack was the eye of the storm and the lightning rod in the middle, spinning out chaos in every direction like the conductor of an elaborate, deadly dance. _Least of all mine._

Technically, Jack was under her command but Shepard had never felt less in control of another person. She’d never felt less in control of _herself_ since the tattooed convict joined her crew. Hell, she was bargaining with a known galactic criminal just to get a present for the woman. When had she lost her mind like this? The late evenings below Engineering grew more frequent, lasted longer; still light on words but the silence was more comfortable each time they fell into each other’s presence.

“You’re never quite what I expect, Shepard.” Aria’s amusement scythed through her thoughts like a cold blade. The smug conviction beneath her words guaranteed that she’d seen Shepard watching Jack; that she knew exactly what she was seeing even if the soldier didn’t.

“Aria-.” Shepard turned her eyes to the asari, harnessing every inch of her strength and will, and pouring it out in that low word of warning. Jack wasn’t part of their game, she was off limits and if the soldier had to prove that point with blood and fists, she would. Jack had been used enough, she’d been a pawn in too many battles and schemes. The woman was more than a weapon and Shepard would be damned before she’d let Aria turn her into one again.

“You’ll get your liquor, Shepard. Just get her out of here.” The Queen of Omega turned away from the carnage ensuing below, relaxing back into her couch as if nothing at all had happened. She wasn’t even inclined to gloat over her unexpected epiphany. She was letting Shepard leave without admitting anything, without making the situation any worse.

“Whatever you say, Your Majesty.” The Commander gratefully rose to her feet, executing a mock bow. She met Aria’s eyes as she straightened, seeing the silent agreement that both of them would pretend this never happened. Neither of them could afford to be weak, and they needed each other. They needed each other strong.

The Commander had just reached the edge of the office when a squeak of shifting leather told her Aria was about to speak.

“Shepard,” the brusque voice caught her, making her pause, “Don’t bring that one back unless she’s on a leash.”

The soldier nodded without turning, knowing this was the final display of Aria’s control. The Queen had to get the last word in.

The Commander stormed down the stairs to the lower level, ducking as a broken bar stool flew within inches of her head. The chaos had driven dancers and clientele to the far corners of the room, all cowering beneath tables and behind walls. A few of the more enterprising patrons had taken the opportunity to snag unguarded bottles of liquor. Others seized the chance to get close and familiar with the frightened strippers, bodily shielding them and not benefiting in any way at all from the contact of so much naked asari skin trapped helplessly in their grip.

“Jacob! What happened?” Shepard dodged to one side as an infuriated turian took a swing at her. A quick grab at his arm and spin sent him flying into the wall. The sound of metal on metal was like a gunshot ricocheting across the room.

“One of these idiots pissed off Jack!” Jacob shouted back, dealing with a batarian that probably had nothing to do with the fight but was eager for any chance to hurt a human.

“I figured that much,” Shepard growled.

She weaved around and through two more attackers, grabbing a chair and breaking it against the head of a third. In the middle of the brawl, Jack was dealing with a handful of turians. Three were suspended in midair, flailing for purchase. Two more were locked in stasis, each frozen in the act of reaching for their guns. A massive barrier kept this bubble of chaos separate from the rest of the club, Jack’s own private party. But holding so many fields at once was wearing on her, slowing her down. The final attacker was dodging her blows, expertly evading each charged punch that would’ve put a hole through his armor. He slipped around her attack and was suddenly behind her, drawing his weapon as quickly as she could turn.

Shepard grabbed his wrist, yanking it at an unnatural angle until a snapping noise reverberated into her grip and he howled, dropping the gun. She grabbed his collar in both fists, spinning him around and, without a second’s thought, shot forward and slammed her forehead into his. The blow made her entire head ring and it felt like her face broke but she knew she’d done it right. Wrex would be proud. The turian dropped to the ground like a rock.

“I could’ve handled it,” Jack growled, trying to mask the labor of her breath as her fists slowly uncoiled. The mass effect fields across the club all released, freeing the turians and their friends. Aria’s henchmen appeared like magic, a dangerous deterrent to anyone wanting to resume hostilities.

“Yeah, but I haven’t gotten to do that in a while,” Shepard shrugged, running a hand across her aching skull.

“Commander, I suggest we leave.” Jacob’s typical caution felt fully justified now, with irritated workers and injured clientele starting to emerge on all sides. Without a word, all three of them moved to the exit, watching for any further attack and breathing in relief only when they were on the other side of the main doors.

“What did that guy do anyway, Jack?” Shepard glanced at the biotic as they struck out across Omega for the docking bay.

“Thought he could grab my ass,” the convict’s usual snarl had an edge of victory beneath the rage, “No one touches me without permission.”

“I’ll remember that,” the Commander chuckled, shaking her head.

“Yeah, you better,” Jack tossed her a sharp glance, a confusion of warning, challenge and promise all warring in the impenetrable gaze, “Don’t fucking get in the middle of my fight again, Shepard.”

“I can’t promise that I won’t.” Shepard’s smile faltered. Jack was fiercely independent but she was still part of the _Normandy’s_ crew. As long as she was on the Commander’s ship, she couldn’t expect to fight the galaxy alone.

“Yeah, figured as much, Girl Scout,” Jack rolled her eyes, the disparaging nickname sounding less irritated each time she used it, “And thanks.”

Shepard didn’t bother to look at the convict, knew she’d be staring resolutely ahead, refusing to acknowledge any moment of mutual appreciation or respect. Jack only dealt with emotions in fractions and slices, offering up the barest hints that she knew what basic human decency looked like. Given what she’d lived through, the soldier wondered how she’d learned it at all.

“Anytime, Jack,” Shepard nodded. Warmth fluttered beneath her words and translated into the shape of her lips curling around the reply. Even when Jack couldn’t see it, Shepard knew she heard the smile. It might’ve been her imagination, but the tattooed woman seemed to straighten and walk a bit taller at her side, just a little more ease and swagger in her step.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was dying for a chance to use Aria. She's an amazing character and I hope to do her justice.


	5. The Gift of Confusion

Jack scowled at the bottle sitting across from her. The bina rested innocently on the work bench, utterly oblivious to the violent ball of frustration festering just a few feet away. Jack hadn’t even opened it. Each time she thought to reach for it and dissolve her thoughts in the biting liquor, her fingers shied away. It was like the bottle was made of something more toxic than its contents.

What. The. Fuck.

The tattooed biotic hated surprises. Getting surprised was nature’s way of telling you that you could’ve been dead. Jack preferred to see death coming and kick its ass. Even more than getting surprised, she absolutely despised being confused. Think clear, think quick; that’s how you stay alive. Right now, however, her brain was twisting itself into knots, trying to find the trap. It felt like being pinned in a firefight and not knowing where the hell the bullets were coming from. Her typical solution would be to blast everything in all directions, smoke the whole battlefield and then put a bullet into anything that twitched. For some reason, she couldn’t do that with Shepard.

The damned soldier had a habit of waltzing into this subdeck like she owned the place. In a way, she did, but normally no one dared to radiate that kind of authority around Jack, it got them killed. Not Shepard. She showed up like she’d been fucking invited just because she didn’t get thrown out on her ass. Usually, Jack would’ve taken her apart at the seams and left the mess as a warning to everyone else, but Shepard was . . . _Fuck._ Shepard was different. She didn’t talk too much, didn’t pry, didn’t get all righteous or weepy when she learned the few pieces of the past that Jack was willing to mention. The insufferable woman simply listened and nodded like she’d been expecting each story all along. Jack had checked the Cerberus and _Normandy_ data files. None of the shit she’d mentioned showed up in any of the records. Shepard didn’t already know the convict had been in a cult or gang or blown up a space station. She just reacted in a way that made it seem like she’d heard it before, like it was all so goddamn _normal._

 _I hate soldiers._ Jack had been reminding herself of that fact a lot more lately. Which was weird because she didn’t usually have to remember hate. It was always right beneath the surface of her thoughts, a bubbling, septic cauldron of violence waiting to be unleashed. She shouldn’t have to _tell_ herself to hate anyone; it was supposed to be instinct. Especially with military. All their rules and regulations, those dumbass oaths of honor and duty, the perfectly pressed uniforms and battle-hardened bodies.

The thought of military training and physique sent the biotic’s memory down an entirely different path . . .

Shepard had stripped her jacket off the other night, the lower deck’s heat becoming too much for formality. Jack hadn’t realized it was that warm until she saw the glisten of sweat along the soldier’s neck and shoulders. It was the first time she’d ever seen the Commander without the fucking Cerberus colors all over her and she noticed that Shepard’s skin was marked up with scars. Her eyes instinctively followed the pale lines until they were tracing the shape of Shepard’s arms: cut muscle and slender strength and Jack almost allowed herself to wonder how much damage a body like that could do, how much it could endure, before her mind slammed back into itself and shutdown.

Jack had a basic kill-or-be-killed strategy that covered every potential problem in her life. She didn’t have the first idea of how to handle a threat like Shepard. Never had that been clearer than a few hours ago when the Commander strolled in and placed the bottle of exotic, alien alcohol on the work bench.

_“What shit is that?” Jack demanded as she eased back against the wall, deliberately creating some distance between herself and the soldier. She had to, otherwise her subconscious instinct would do just the opposite and she was onto that little bastard voice in her head._

_“I figured you’d recognize it. Unless all that talk about wanting volus booze was just a load of BS to make yourself seem more badass,” Shepard nodded to the bottle. Her face was too controlled to expose emotion but her eyes were definitely smirking. Bina? The almighty Commander fucking Shepard took time out of her schedule for saving the universe to track down a bottle of liquor that would kill most humans? Jack didn’t dare let herself think about how strange it was that the woman even remembered her craving._

_“I know what it is,” the biotic kept her sarcasm to a dull snarl, “Why are you bringing it here?”_

_“I wanted to give it to you.” Shepard shrugged like she was ignoring another one of Cerberus’ commands. She did that a lot these days._

_“What for?” Jack refused to give in so easily. Something was off. Good things never came free and no one did shit without a reason. What the fuck was this soldier after?_

_“It’s a gift, Jack.” Shepard’s voice dropped to a lower level, slower, gentler; the way people talked when they needed to soothe a dangerous animal. Or when they were explaining the obvious to a damned kid._

_“Right, so what? You want something in return? Some favor you think I have to be bribed for? You already know the crazy shit I’ve done, so you must want something really bad if you think you have to come in here with this kind of trick.” Jack leapt to her feet, body coiled and ready for an attack. She was steeled from head to toe, almost trembling with the intensity of her muscles bracing for the inevitable. Everyone wanted something. Maybe now she’d finally find out what Shepard was after._

_“Jack, no! I-,” the Commander’s mouth hung open for an extra second before she sighed and shifted her attention, “EDI.”_

_“Yes, Commander Shepard.” The AI’s voice washed into the room with all its clinical calm and beauty._

_“Please define ‘gift’ for me.” Shepard rubbed one hand over the back of her neck, a mannerism Jack had come to recognize. She did it when she felt helpless or frustrated, occasionally when she was embarrassed too._

_“There are six possible definitions, Commander. Do you wish to hear all of them?” EDI’s omniscience was surpassed only by her eagerness to help._

_“No. Focus on the exchange of items between two people.” The Commander kept her eyes trained on Jack as she spoke._

_“That would be the first and most common definition. Gift, noun;_ _something_[ _given_](http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/give) _voluntarily without payment in return, as to show favor toward someone, honor an occasion, or make a gesture of assistance. Synonym: present.” EDI helpfully supplied the full definition. If it was possible for the_ Normandy _AI to show emotion in her voice, there might have been traces of self-satisfaction in that placid tone._

_“Thanks, EDI. That’s all,” Shepard spread her hands wide, surrendering the information and all it meant. “I don’t want anything from you, Jack. I just wanted to give you something you’d like.”_

_The convict’s tongue twisted behind her teeth, trying to find a shape for the thoughts stuck in her brain. It would be so damn easy to call bullshit, to shout Shepard out of the alcove; to utterly seal off the chaos that entered her thoughts whenever the Commander came into her corner of this world. She couldn’t, she was paralyzed at the edge of attack. Shepard could sense that the conversation was done; she had that damned instinct for Jack’s moods. The soldier was never one to wear out her welcome and she’d turned to leave before the biotic finally found one word breaking her silence:_

_“WHY?”_

_Jack’s shouted demand halted the woman in her tracks, forcing her to turn back and face the furious confusion her actions had caused. She’d never seen the Commander lose her temper, not even when she and Miranda were baiting each other or the Illusive Dick was pulling strings and making life unbearable. This was as close to anger as she’d ever seen on Shepard’s face._

_“Because I wanted to thank you!” The soldier growled, body shaking from the control it took to not cross the distance and fill Jack’s space, “Because you don’t seem like the type to want flowers and you already have enough fucking guns! I wanted to show you that I’m glad you’re on board, that I like you being here,” the powder keg suddenly defused, power and emotion draining out of Shepard like a cooling thermal clip, “I like being able to come down here and spend time with you, Jack. It’s the only time anything seems normal. I just . . . I wanted to thank you for that.”_

_Shaping the truth took the last of Shepard’s will and the Commander turned away, surrendering the fight without another word. Jack watched her back as she retreated, abandoning the alcove in defeat. The biotic didn’t understand her sudden desire to reach out, the instinct that had one hand already lifting into the air before she stopped it. She balled her fists, forcing them to stay at her sides, but a knot of words was untying itself in her throat and there’d be no stopping them._

_“I’ll see you later, Shepard.” Jack clenched her jaw to let out the least of her thoughts. It was supposed to sound like fact, maybe even a command. So why was there a note of invitation echoing off the cold metal all around them? Why was she holding her breath and too aware of the noise of her heartbeat as the silence stretched on and she waited for an answer?_

And why did the answer make her so fucking happy?

Jack’s scowl was almost painful, jaw clenching so tight that her teeth should’ve shattered. Nothing made sense anymore. The only thing that ever had made sense was rage and right now it hovered painfully beyond her grasp, little more than a teasing spike of fury that faded back into the irritated frustrations coloring her world. She reached forward and grabbed the bina, breaking the seal and tearing off the cap. If her thoughts wouldn’t make sense then she needed to stop thinking. The first taste of bitter and sharp, acid and ammonia, burned into her stomach as fast as the vapors crawled towards her brain. This could make the confusion go away, could numb the pains and angers and paint the whole world in a surreal, hazy glow that made even the worst parts of her life seem bearable to think about. Even as she downed another painful, acrid gulp, Jack couldn’t choke away the one thought that clawed up through the dizzying spin of her mind. _This is what it feels like with Shepard._

ooo.oo0.o00.000.00O.0OO.OOO.OO0.O00.000.00o.0oo.ooo.

Commander Shepard marched towards Miranda’s office, nodding curtly to the greetings and salutes from her crew. It still felt wrong to not see everyone in Alliance uniforms but she was getting used to it, getting better at seeing names and faces and not just Cerberus. It made her feel all the more relieved when she glanced at the medical bay and saw Dr. Chakwas through the windows. A familiar face made all the difference on a ship like this.

Karin must have noticed the Commander’s presence across the deck, raising her eyes long enough to nod a casual greeting. Shepard smiled, returning the gesture. Her collarbone and throat gave a dull throb, a vague reminder that she should probably swipe some medigel for her damaged bones. Preferably later, so that Chakwas wouldn’t be around to find out how she let herself get manhandled like a rag doll.

The krogan weren’t known for a gentle touch, but when Okeer’s legacy pinned her to the hull with one arm she heard as much as felt the cracks beneath his grip. He’d probably give Wrex a damn good run in hand to hand. Despite the ache that crested along the top of each breath, Shepard found herself smiling. He was going to be useful. Far more useful than Okeer ever could have been, not with his head full of deranged ideas about a master race. Grunt was a blank slate, full of facts and history but the stunning clarity of a free entity far removed from the past.

His first instinct was to kill her. Shepard had silently cursed at the universe, wondering why all her new allies seemed to share this same murderous intent. After Jack and Thane, he made three. Four if she included Zaeed’s willingness to get her killed without pulling the actual trigger. Five if she felt like bringing up the number of Archangel’s bullets that had grazed her armor. Way too many people had been acting like they wanted her dead lately, regardless of the fact that she’d already tried it.

At least with a krogan it wasn’t personal, they were born wanting to kill everything and everyone. She looked past the murderous glint in those amphibious black eyes, searching for the spark that made a handful of his kind different, _reasonable_. She’d learned to recognize it in Wrex and now she knew how to see it in the others. She’d felt a smirk creep across her face when she recognized the flicker of intelligence behind his threat. It was the unconscious assurance that he didn’t just want to kill, he wanted to kill the right people at the right time. _That_ she could work with.

“Grunt is joining our mission,” Shepard announced as soon as she walked into Miranda’s office. The brunette paused whatever important task she was in the middle of doing, fingers hovering over her terminal as she processed the information.

“I assume you mean the krogan.” She tapped a few last commands, closing her work and turning her full attention on Shepard; skeptical but game, like always. Her face was as unreadable as ever, cool and calm, calculating all the angles.

“He wants to be called Grunt,” the Commander dropped into a chair across from her XO, “And no, the name wasn’t my idea. I think we should get him some gear and practice time before he starts head-butting the hull.”

“Aggressive, I take it?” Miranda’s trained eyes didn’t miss the slight wince that accompanied Shepard’s breath. The sweep of her analytical gaze was already cataloguing every twitch and nuance of pain, identifying all possible injuries and probably planning treatment and lectures.

“He’s pure krogan, as Okeer would say. Just like anything else labeled ‘pure,’ seems to mean: he’s ten times stronger and twice as likely to knock you on your ass.” The Commander absently grazed a hand over the bruises on her sternum.

"I’ll arrange for Jacob to get him outfitted and test his skills in some training sessions.” Miranda nodded, fingers dancing rapidly across her terminal like she was orchestrating music.

“Have Chakwas on standby when you do. Jacob’s going to need some repair work afterwards.” Shepard allowed herself a rueful chuckle but the brunette clearly didn’t share her amusement, a line furrowing her brow.

“Commander, you didn’t have to go down there alone. It was an unnecessary risk to confront him by yourself.” Miranda’s rebuke was milder than usual, a sense of disappointment that brushed the edge of hurt. The concern was genuine and the Commander couldn’t quite tell if it was her physical, mental or emotional well-being that so concerned the woman. The scolding did sound an awful lot like a professional way of saying she was crazy.

“I wanted to see him, Miranda.” Shepard couldn’t offer any better explanation than simple truth.

She’d needed to stand in the cargo hold and study the silent visage locked in chemical slumber. Was that how she had been for the two years when Lazarus was putting her back together? Did she look as peaceful as that, surrounded in an ethereal, life-giving liquid suspension? Did Miranda stand in front of her still form and unconsciously question whether they were doing the right thing? Whether they would succeed? _Whether it was worth it?_

The urge to ask Miranda those questions was right at the tip of her tongue. The tense but intimate feel of their relationship crept up on Shepard at odd times. They had history; a history she hadn’t experienced or even been awake for, but it was there and she could see glimpses of it in those crystal blue eyes before they locked down. Was there a sense of regret? Betrayal? After two years of slaving on the Lazarus Project and learning a stranger’s mind and body better than she knew her own, was this what Miranda had expected?

“Watching someone sleep isn’t going to prepare you for what happens when they wake up.” The reproach hadn’t left Miranda’s voice but it was softened, experience hollowing out the words. She knew the nuances and tells of Shepard’s face, how to read the cracks in her mask. All too easily, she had followed the Commander’s thread of thought to the past.

“No,” the Commander agreed, grateful for the subtle answer to her unspoken doubts, “People are full of surprises.”

“Yes, they are. Some of them are even good ones,” Miranda’s mouth quirked at one side, the beginnings of a genuine smile that warmed her whole expression. Her words were deliberately vague, but the note of compliment rang true. Shepard tilted her head slightly, acknowledging the praise. Inch by inch they were learning to put aside the commander/crew dynamic, their scientist/experiment history. They might never see eye to eye, but they were finally starting to trust that they were both looking the same direction.

“Was there anything else, Commander?” Miranda was quickly done with their moment of silent understanding, her polished poise sliding back into place. Enough friendship for today.

“No, just wanted you to be apprised of the situation,” Shepard shrugged, aware that she was essentially being dismissed by a subordinate, “You should see him when you have the time. Perfection looks pretty different in krogan skin.”

It had only been a few days since Miranda told her about her past, about being genetically engineered as her father’s ultimate legacy. The soldier was still trying to process the man’s narcissism, the baggage of being little more than a tool for your parent’s ego and the casual acceptance in Miranda’s voice when she talked about it; like everything she was could be summarized in her origins. Of course, Shepard’s most overwhelming reaction was simply to marvel at how far science had come. Hovercars and omnitools weren’t half as impressive as Miranda Lawson’s design.

“You want the _Normandy’s_ lab rats to spend some time together, Commander? Maybe form a support group?” The sarcasm in Miranda’s voice could’ve been harsh and biting, but right now all Shepard could hear was light mockery, a comfortable ease that the soldier wouldn’t have expected a week ago.

“Hell, no! That would mean inviting Jack too. I don’t think even Grunt could survive the two of you in one room.” Shepard shook her head as she got to her feet, not noticing that Miranda suddenly stiffened.

“Commander, about Jack -.” The XO’s voice cut through the soldier’s amusement.

 _And we were doing so well._ Shepard sighed, wondering which fight they were about to have and how much of their tenuous, nascent friendship was about to be destroyed. The muscles running along her spine all tightened, straightening her into military stance, ready for an attack.

“What about her?” The Commander kept her voice even, refusing to slip into a full defensive mode before there was reason.

She watched Miranda’s eyes study her posture and expression, reading each thought her body betrayed. The Cerberus Operative was silent for so many seconds that she began to think the woman wasn’t going to speak, that perhaps she’d realized this was going to end in a fight no matter what she said.

“Just be careful, will you? I don’t have the facilities on board to put you back together when things go wrong.” The warning was a brusque dismissal, refusing to ponder the subject any further. Whatever concerns Miranda had wanted to voice, she knew this wasn’t the time. She might have been irritated with the situation, but it wasn't worth the trouble. Not yet.

“Understood.” Shepard grinned, indescribably pleased that the conversation could end on such a peaceful note.

The Commander strolled happily out of the XO’s cabin, relieved that the last of her duties were taken care of; she was free to contemplate what the rest of her evening might hold. She’d been adamantly refusing to think about Jack, trying to keep the biotic’s face and voice out of her mind so she could actually focus on the urgent business at hand. For tonight, however, there was nothing left she could do to save the galaxy, and Miranda’s mention of the biotic had been like a spell that summoned her to the front of Shepard’s thoughts.

_“I’ll see you later, Shepard.” The rasped words made her freeze, mind jerking to halt as every thought flew into a confused panic. Had she heard that right? Jack always dismissed her with nothing more than a brusque ‘whatever.’ This was the first time she’d acknowledged their pattern, admitted that she knew Shepard was going to come back again. It was the only hint she’d ever given that she expected it to keep happening; that maybe, just maybe, she liked the company too._

_Now she was waiting for a response. The Commander could feel silence like a vacuum sucking around them on all sides. The perfect stillness of suspense, no matter how violently Jack might deny it, was keeping her from moving. Shepard didn’t dare turn around. She couldn’t stop the grin spreading across her lips, splitting her face so wide that her cheeks ached. There was no way she could get it under control so she was going to have to reply without looking back._

_“Make sure you save a shot for me.” Shepard tossed back the response as casually as possible. She strained to hear any response, listening so hard that her ears felt like they were ripping free. There it was: a faint sigh like the relief of a held breath finally being released._

_That was the right answer._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels a little rough in places - particularly with Miranda as I'm still trying to get a handle on her personality. Any thoughts/feedback for refining it would be very welcome. In the meantime, hopefully the unfolding Shep/Jack relationship is still on track.


	6. Sparks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things turn physical. I think this still falls within M rating but not sure.

“Bullshit!” Shepard laughed, sound echoing off the metal in every direction until it sounded like the alcove was full of mocking delight.

“You calling me a liar, Shepard?” Jack challenged, leaning forward on the edge of her cot so she could glare down at the Commander on the floor. It had become her habitual spot to relax, stretching out on the decking as if she were reclining on an asari beach. The soldier said it was because she liked the feel of the ship against her back, the sense of being connected to her command. Jack was pretty sure it had more to do with being able to watch without being watched. The biotic could often feel Shepard’s eyes sweeping over her. If she turned in time she would catch the gaze and it never tried to escape, never apologized or hid her naked interest. Usually the damn woman just smirked back at her.

“I only look stupid, Jack.” Shepard shook her head, refusing to fall into the obvious trap.

“That’s what you think,” the tattooed woman chuckled, hoping the smug taunt was enough to disguise the wander of her thoughts, the faint confusion that grew more pronounced during these evenings together. The Commander looked like a lot of things. Stupid was never one of them. Jack had been part of the mission for only a couple weeks but she’d already collected an entire compendium of data, facts and observations, all filed away in a shadowy corner of her brain stamped “Shepard.”

The soldier carried herself with easy command throughout the day, nonchalant authority that somehow invited questions without ever surrendering control. She looked like a machine in battle, smooth and precise, calculating each target and shot and patiently waiting for the perfect kill. She was the opposite of Jack’s primal violence, raging forward like a force of nature; but she never tried to stop the biotic from fighting her own way. The only awareness Jack had of her Commander on the battlefield was the covering fire that kept enemies off her ass, shooting anyone that got too close. Shepard never missed, not even the bastards that Jack didn’t notice. She kept her team safe, each and every one. It frightened the shit out of Jack the first time she realized she was willing to ignore targets because she knew Shepard would take care of them. She’d never let _anyone_ have her back.

That change wasn’t half as worrisome as the treacherous thoughts that bled into Jack’s mind now, looking down at the smirking soldier. There was an easy pleasure in her smile, eyes and voice relaxed in a way that Jack had never seen outside this room. It gave her a foreign twist of pride, seeing this part of the Commander that no one else saw. Much like the slippery frisson of anticipation she felt when she heard the familiar pace of heavy boots descending the metal stairs; the unexpected pleasure under her breath when she made the woman laugh. More than anything, it annoyed the hell out of her that she was even noticing this shit.

“Ok, then convince me,” Shepard demanded, dragging Jack out of her increasingly frustrated silence, “How the hell did you end up living with varrens? How did you even survive?”

“Funny thing, they don’t try to bite you if you bit them first.” The convict shrugged, shoving away thoughts that couldn’t be erased with anger.

“Yeah, it really doesn’t surprise me that you know that.” The Commander’s jibe was sarcasm and admiration intermixed.

“Turian bounty hunter was on my ass and I needed to lay low. I knew a scumbag volus that ran a crooked pit fight, rigged it half the time and didn’t give a shit about the animals. A couple lies, the right threat, and he was handing me the key to the cages, running off like he’d pissed his suit.” Jack smiled fondly at the memory. The varrens had taken up a chorus of snarls and roars, smelling the little alien’s fear as he fled. A few tried to snap at her when she entered the pen but she had teeth too and she had biotics, they fell into line under the new alpha with barely a growl.

“Ok, now that I can see,” Shepard accepted the story like it was another piece to add to the larger mystery she was solving, “Sure as hell easier to picture you in a pack of varrens than that cult you mentioned. It’s hard to imagine you holding hands and chanting about a messiah coming in his Mako.”

“Wasn’t that kind of cult. Lot of drugs, some sex, no singing. They were mostly into stockpiling every weapon they could get their hands on and shooting any bastard that got within 1,000 miles of the compound. Including any fucking messiah,” Jack clarified, glancing at the recumbent soldier once more to be sure she’d made her point.

“That’s useful. Plenty of guns on hand when you decided to make your escape.” Shepard’s voice slid unconsciously into soldier mode, calculating strategies and risks.

“Escape is for people who run away, Shepard,” the biotic immediately corrected, pride lending a threat to her tone, “I walked out covered in blood and then blew the place up for good measure.”

“Or for the hell of it.” The Commander’s eyes glittered playfully, daring Jack to deny her charge. The convict just grinned.

“Yeah, that too. Killed 87 of those assholes. I was still pretty high but I inked the number so I wouldn’t forget.” She sat up and showed off her right arm. The soldier rose up on her elbows for a closer look.

For a moment, Shepard couldn’t see anything in the maelstrom of colors and symbols, but one tattooed finger drew her attention to the inside of the biotic’s bicep. The faded grey number was partially blocked out by the green marks that looked like metal greaves, but once the Commander knew where to look it was obvious. The bold, blocky “87” sat on her skin like part of a ledger. All of Jack’s body was a record. Her sins and everyone else’s, and she was doing her damnedest to even the score before the end.

“So that tattoos really are about kills,” Shepard’s hand shifted like she wanted to reach out and touch the number, but she held herself back, “Tell me about one of the others.”

“Fuck, Shepard, didn’t you notice? I’ve got tons of them!” Jack protested, pulling her arm back from being on display but not moving further away. She rested one elbow on her knee, leaning forward comfortably to keep an eye on the Commander below.

Her words sounded like an irritated dismissal but underneath was a silent invitation. She was giving Shepard permission. Up to this point there had been only an unspoken understanding: Jack knowing Shepard looked, Shepard knowing Jack let her. This was the first time the biotic acknowledged that compromise and offered more. These evenings, the silences and conversations, the stories of her past, the trade of jokes, the willingness to answer questions; each concession was barely an inch along miles of No Man’s Land, hard fought but irrevocably won. Jack tried to not wonder which side of the battle she was fighting.

Shepard’s eyes widened slightly, understanding exactly what the biotic had offered, but her expression quickly closed off once more. She hid behind that cocky smile like it was a kessia faceplate. Too bad her eyes still gave her away, darting rapidly over the endless mysteries intertwined over skin. Looked like a kid in a fucking candy aisle. Kinda cute. _Shit, I didn’t just think that._ Jack tensed, scowling at herself and the dumbass turn of thought.

“Tell me about a good one.” The Commander rose into a sitting position.

She moved slowly, deliberately, keeping just the right amount of space between them so as not to set off Jack’s defenses. The convict knew exactly what the other woman was doing. She was trying to make Jack feel safe, letting her be the one in control. There were hundreds of stories on her skin, thousands of questions begging to be asked. It would take years to know them all and Shepard’s eyes radiated an enthusiastic confidence, totally certain that one day she would hear every one. This evening, however, she only wanted what Jack was willing to share.

“I killed an asari commando,” the biotic finally settled on an answer, “Those are some tough bitches to take down. We’d destroyed half a building and when she was charging her fields I dragged the other half down on us. Her barrier shattered, mine didn’t. Except for one fucking piece of rebar that got through and caught me in the back, punched a perfect hole. I heal fast, but I inked the spot so I could remember how hard that kill was. A nice ring around the wound that nearly got me.”

Jack twisted slightly, showing a portion of her spine and ribs but unable to point out the precise tattoo. Shepard’s eyes flowed along the storm of shapes and designs, no one pattern or symbol jumping out.

“Jack, there are dozens of circles on your back.” The Commander frowned. Not just her back, but all over her body. The convict had circles of all sizes, circles within circles, they had tails, or were set in pairs, or connected to smaller circles or floated off in some random place. There was no order to them and no end.

“It’s the one on my ribs.” Jack turned her head further, realizing how long it had been since she’d studied any of the ink on her back. Shepard got to her knees, shifting to a better position for studying the bare expanse of flesh.

“There are several on your ribs. Which one?” The Commander’s hand lifted to hover just above her skin. Jack could feel the subtle warmth as fingers traced over colorful lines, never quite touching. Without permission, the energy along her eezo nodes flared, a dull hum that followed the magnetic draw of another electrical field so close to her own. Everything alive generates energy, she knew that; but it had been a long, long time since Jack felt another person’s electricity interact with her own hypercharged nervous system.

“Fuck, Shepard,” the biotic growled, “You think I look at my own ass? The one closest to my lungs.”

“This one?” Shepard’s finger brushed against her, on the right side of her spine. The contact was brief, a microsecond, but it generated a spark where skin met skin and the tiny jolt was like a mild static shock. The soldier yanked her hand away instantly, gasping like she’d been burnt. Jack would’ve laughed at the frightened reaction, except she was too busy wondering why she found it funny. She’d been expecting it. Waiting for that minute, tingling explosion. Her reflexes hadn’t jerked away or punched back to fight off the touch.

“No, that’s the wrong spot. A bullseye. Do you see it?” Jack was suddenly grateful that her voice was naturally raspy and dangerous. She needed a sound that could cover her confusion, the sudden doubt that was making her feel like maybe she was in danger but she didn’t know why.

“Here.” Shepard’s voice was hesitant, on the edge of cracking, as fingers found the tattoo on the left side of her ribs. She touched again, heavier this time, braced for the surge, and Jack tightened every muscle in her body to keep from moving. When the shock dulled, there was only the lingering awareness of warmth, the gentle vibration of biotic energy humming beneath her skin where the Commander’s touch still lingered.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Jack nodded, putting a little extra purr into the words just so she could feel Shepard tense up as tightly as she felt, “Fucking rod pierced a lung. I was coughing up blood for a couple days in a krogan hell hole with some toad patching me up.”

“That’s quite a story.” The soldier’s hand darted back, letting out a sigh that shook either from relief or frustration. Jack turned just enough to see Shepard’s face, noting the bloom of color rising up her cheeks and the way the Commander’s eyes avoided her own.

“I got hundreds,” the biotic shrugged, untwisting her body to settle back against the wall. The space helped. Putting distance between herself and Shepard meant the electrical pulses under her skin could calm down. The Commander was rapidly regathering her own casual poise as she got to her feet. The only hint that she was just as startled and confused as the convict was the repetitive clenching of her fist, tendons along her arm flexing and coiling like she was trying to keep a grip on the impossible.

“I can’t wait to hear them,” Shepard’s posture was stiff but the warmth of her words genuine, “Pick another for tomorrow night. I still have to tell you about my own cult experience.”

“What, you had a bunch of followers chanting your name and wanting to become sister wives?” Jack couldn’t quite restrain the smirk tugging at one side of her mouth, trying to picture the soldier in some godawful flowing robes. The handful of men and women throwing themselves at her feet was a bit easier to see. Fucking charismatic leaders.

“Nope. But I got to break up the leader’s paradise. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.” With a final wink and smile, Shepard turned and left. Jack spent the rest of the night _not_ thinking about how, from five feet away, that smile had made her biotics hum.

ooo.oo0.o00.000.00O.0OO.OOO.OO0.O00.000.00o.0oo.ooo

When Shepard got back to her cabin, her hand was still balled into a fist. Much as she knew there was nothing to hold onto, her fingers refused to release the fading sensation. The heat was easy enough to dismiss, even if she could feel it from inches away, but the pulse! The vibration had purred beneath tattooed skin like a weapon charging, and then there was that shock. Shepard could’ve sworn she saw a spark of blue leap at her fingers before she jerked back.

The soldier had touched biotics before. Hell, she’d screwed a few and none had that component of electricity in their flesh. Shepard might’ve bragged about making her lovers hum but nothing compared to the sensation of Jack’s body – even so briefly - beneath her hand. Was it everywhere? Could she control it? Did it happen with anyone that touched her? An irrational surge of anger spiked in her chest, picturing fingers other than her own exploring the exotic details of Jack’s skin.

_Steady, Soldier._ Shepard took a deep breath, shoving the jealousy aside, along with all the other thoughts she didn’t need to be having. Jack deserved better than that. She wasn’t an object, no matter how many people in her life had tried to make her think that she was. Not a tool, not a weapon, not an experiment or toy. All these evenings spent in the comfortable warmth and hazy shadows beneath Engineering had worked a slow and steady miracle: Jack was opening up. She was talking (cursing, mostly), and bit by bit sharing pieces of her past like it was garbage in the basement that she’d almost forgotten.

The convict pretended to resent Shepard’s curiosity, to only indulge her as much as was absolutely necessary. She couldn’t completely hide the fact that she was starting to enjoy it. _“Fuck you and thanks for asking._ ” Jack couldn’t hide the smirk that crossed her lips with those words, nor any of the smiles that had come more easily since. Shepard could feel the slow, fragile beginnings of actual trust in their conversations, in the way the biotic looked less angry when they were together below decks. That was what the scarred woman needed. She needed a friend.

Having lectured herself back into a calm, slightly ashamed, state of mind, Shepard got ready for bed. Usually exhausted from a long day of solving everyone’s problems, it was seldom more than a few minutes after her head hit the pillow that she fell into deep, dreamless sleep. Tonight, something was wrong. The pillow was too hard, too soft, the wrong size, the wrong place. The tank top kept twisting and bunching as she rolled back and forth, the material was too loose and too tight at the same time. Her covers were too hot, the cabin was too cold, who the fuck let EDI control the thermostat for a bunch of humans?

With an irritated growl, Shepard flung herself out of bed. Her body was too tense to sleep, nerves still strung so tight she felt like _she_ should be humming. Unbidden, her thoughts flew back to the pulsing warmth in Jack’s skin. The memory of the shock made her fingers twitch all over again. This was getting ridiculous. She stalked to her desk and instinctively reached for the bottle of whiskey, stopping short at the last second. She was tightly wound, yes, but alcohol wouldn’t be a solution. Not when she had to be up at 0500. Not when Miranda so obviously thought she was an alcoholic after seeing the shipment from Aria (bless that blue bitch’s shriveled heart, she sent six cases). Not when Jack wasn’t here to punch her in the shoulder and curse at her for hogging the bottle.

Sighing, Shepard reached for a stack of datapads. There had to be a few dozen reports she’d fallen behind on and they piled up all over her cabin. She was positive that either Miranda or Kelly was sneaking in and dumping more of the damn things every time she went out. She shuffled through a few, looking for anything boring enough to put her to sleep. Psychology profiles from Chambers. Weapon assessments from Jacob. Specs on the new canon Garrus was lusting over. _Here we go, Engineering Upgrades._ Daniels was incredibly smart and good with people but she had no concept of how to explain technology in simple terms. Reading her reports was a bit like raking your eyes against shattered glass. Shepard hit the phrase “composite lithium ion conductive capacity” and knew she’d chosen right.

She was just about to lay down with this sleep-aid when the hiss of a pneumatic seal opening caught her by surprise. It was against protocol, not to mention horribly disrespectful, to barge into the Commander’s cabin uninvited and unannounced. A thorough, indignant rebuke was already forming on Shepard’s tongue as she turned but it died the instant she recognized the woman storming in.

“Jack, is everything alright? Do you need something?” She didn’t like the way the convict’s teeth were bared, fists clenched and ready for a fight. _What the hell did I do now?_

“Fuck yeah, I do.” The answer snarled back.

Shepard barely had time to register the blue glow writhing up Jack’s arm before the biotic throw lifted her off the ground and flung her backwards. She landed on the bed, struggling to shake off the dizzying effect that made her head spin. A trained soldier, N7 officer and first human goddamn Spectre, and she wasn’t even halfway to sitting before the other woman was on her. Jack pinned her flat to the mattress, hands catching both of Shepard’s arms and holding her down with a strength that had nothing to do with size.

A hundred shocked questions and protests were all struggling to push their way to the Commander’s lips but she couldn’t shape any of them. Jack’s eyes filled her vision, nearly black in the dim room but glittering dangerously. She braced herself for the next shockwave, whatever power would burst out of Jack’s body and rip her own to shreds. She could already feel it pulsing in the grip on her arms, the rushing breath hitting her face. Plush, dark lips parted, and Shepard could swear she saw raw energy flashing behind the woman’s teeth.

Then she felt it.

Electricity coursed into her mouth, searing past her lips to shoot down every nerve. It was like getting hit with a power surge; fingers and toes curling, muscles tensing, air ripping out of her lungs from the sheer surprise. Jack’s kiss tasted like cold metal and lightning and Shepard prayed that the woman couldn’t feel the helpless choke of a moan that got caught between them. Jack’s sensual attack was as feral as everything else she did, pouring all of her strength and demand into a war of soft and sharp; plundering hunger and impatient passion. She probably didn’t notice, didn’t even care, that Shepard had surrendered the moment the kiss began.

The soldier’s lungs were begging for air, lips aching and swelling from the play of teeth but she didn’t try to pull away, didn’t want to lose even a second of the shocking bliss. When Jack finally pulled back, releasing her mouth with a shuddering sigh like a dead man’s last breath, Shepard let her head fall heavily to the mattress. She didn’t even realize she’d been leaning up into the kiss, chasing each taste and sensation.

“Get the picture, Girl Scout?” The biotic’s breath was heavy, lips parted into a wicked smile.

“Jack,” Shepard’s tongue felt like a knot, she explored the taste and contours of her ravaged mouth, searching for any way to capture what had just happened, “Fuck.”

Jack’s eyes lit up, grinning all the wider at the perfect description.

“Exactly.” Her voice -always so raspy and raw- was even deeper, throatier, like she had to drag up words from some place forgotten behind this need. Any part of Shepard that wasn’t already trembling from the heat of their kiss shattered at the sound of that promise. The sigh that escaped her was almost a sob of relief. It was all the permission Jack needed, mouth immediately burning down the skin of the soldier’s neck and throat, using every inch of her body to caress the woman pinned beneath her.

The Commander wanted, _needed_ , to have her hands free. Both, either, at least one, dammit! She arched her back, exploring the length and power of the muscles above her, tilting her hips in deliberate invitation. The answering thrust pushed her hard against the mattress, beginning an urgent, heavy grind that matched time with each bite and curse from Jack’s lips. Sweat formed along the small of Shepard’s spine, prickled at the edges of her face and throat, the heat pooling between her thighs was already seeping out, soaking through her underwear.

“Jack,” Shepard had forgotten how to use her breath for anything other than the desperate sounds that kept ripping free but she needed words, she needed more, “ _Please_.”

The biotic must’ve heard everything unspoken under that plea because she released her grip on the Commander’s hands. Shepard immediately filled her arms with the sensation of Jack’s skin, the humming warmth pulsing into her everywhere she touched, trying to pull the tattooed flesh closer than was physically possible. She fumbled for the fastener on the bizarre harness that passed for Jack’s upper clothing, ripping it away to savor an uninterrupted glide down the smooth muscles of her back. One hand gripped the convict’s hip, urging her faster, harder, anything for more contact and Jack’s growl against her throat made her shiver. Teeth caught the Commander’s ear, just sharp enough to be a warning to hold still, while a hand fisted the material of her sleeping tank. There was a brief flash of blue and the sound of fibers not just ripping, but exploding in every direction at once.

Shepard couldn’t hold back a sudden, jerking cry at the sensation when Jack’s skin pressed completely against her own. Shocks devoured every inch of flesh in contact with the biotic, jolts and sparks firing her muscles and coiling her tighter around the body holding her down. The electrical surges followed the trail of a hand gliding between her breasts, nails raking down the line of her stomach, slipping inside fabric and reaching determinedly towards a single goal.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” Jack’s breath against her ear sent an explosion of goosebumps down Shepard’s spine as fingers slid between her thighs. A hot, pulsing touch caressed the slickness, the biotic hum matching the throb of her sex, echoed back louder and stronger. Jack wasn’t even trying. Shepard bit her lip, stifling a long groan as she pressed forward, desperate to know what those fingers would feel like from within. She dug her nails into tattooed flesh, leaving her own dark marks on the confusion of color.

Jack’s free hand threaded into Shepard’s hair, pulled her head back to find any skin that wasn’t already mottled with lipstick and love bites. Instinctively, the soldier tilted further into the touch, exposing her neck for the assault of teeth and tongue. The convict’s throaty growls turned into a purr, a light cadence of laughter rolling beneath her breath as she seared her mark all over humanity’s hero. Shepard’s hips moved of their own volition, grinding hungrily against Jack’s hand, utterly unapologetic for the wanton greediness of her action. The steady, torturous throbbing sped up, the biotic pulse intensifying into a rapid, constant wave of pleasure that refused to fall back down, wouldn’t fade for even a second to let Shepard get a breath, her body clenching impossibly tighter until it felt like she was going to break.

Then those soft, brutal lips were crushing against her own again, drinking up the sounds she couldn’t control. Raw energy sparked across her tongue where Jack’s played in her mouth and their electrical kiss closed the circuit. Shepard didn’t even have a moment to brace herself, to warn Jack, to pull away. The surge hit all at once, ecstasy blossoming out from her soaked core to ignite every nerve in her body, the spasms curling her forward, jerking her upright –

Sitting up in a bed that was empty.

The Commander stared at the dark room in wild shock. She fought for deep breath, trying to slow the frantic pulse of her heart. Her lips were dry and stung when she licked them, but there was no lingering taste of iron and lightning from the imagined kiss. Her muscles were still trembling in aftershocks and she’d fisted the bed linens, gripping so tight that her knuckles were as white as the sheets.

_A dream. Are you fucking kidding me?!_ Shepard untangled her hands and swung her legs off the edge of the bed. She was shaky getting to her feet, a familiar, spent feeling in her thighs reminding her that not everything had been imaginary. A glance at the sheets confirmed as much and she cursed as she stripped the bed. Nothing like that had happened since she was a teenager. Even then, she wasn’t sure any wet dream had ever been so . . . _Vivid. Exciting. Unforgettable._

Messy.

Tossing the soiled fabric in a laundry bin, she remembered at the last second to strip off her underwear and threw it in as well. A glance at the clock announced that it was already 0430 and there was no point in trying to get actual rest now. The soldier opted for a shower instead. She let the hot water run over her skin, sadly feeling it wash away the lingering, imaginary sensations of Jack’s touch. The scent of soap rising with the steam erased the evidence of her own body’s betrayal and she leaned back against the wall, soaking it in. Behind her eyes a flash of dark lips appeared, parted over a sigh, tongue flicking at the edge of sharp teeth before vanishing into a malicious grin.

Trying to be Jack’s friend had just become her own special version of hell.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely comfortable venturing into graphic content like this, not sure if it's even worth it. If it's too amateurish or OoC I'll modify the scene back down to safe T-M levels. Thoughts?


	7. Questions Past and Present

Eternity was better lit than the bars where Shepard usually drank. Aria would probably spit on the perfectly polished counter. Which would result in the matriarch bartender grabbing hold of Omega’s Queen and beating her ass from blue to black. There weren’t a lot of people that Shepard imagined standing up to Aria, but this particular asari certainly had enough of a badass vibe to make it possible. Plus, she had suspiciously good reflexes for a bartender.

“I hear you chalked up another win for humanity: sorting out that Justicar’s business and keeping our Detective Anaya alive,” Aethyta remarked as the Commander slid onto a seat at the bar.

“I don’t think Samara would’ve killed her.” Shepard shrugged away the praise but happily accepted a glass that was slid over. She didn’t know how, but the bartender had known her taste in drinks from the moment she first walked into this place.

“Then you’ve got a lot to learn about Justicars.” Aethyta had a low, throaty laugh, like she’d just rolled out of bed, smoked a cigarette and chased it with a shot of 80 proof anything.

“You have some history with them, I take it?” The soldier never missed a chance to pry extra clues out of the enigmatic asari. She always seemed so open and casual about herself, but when Shepard listened to her answers there were gaps. She told her stories in broad brushstrokes rather than specific detail.

“After 800 years running around this shithole galaxy? Kid, I’ve got history with everyone.” The laugh barked out again, answering and dodging the question at the same time.

“Most of it bad.” A dulcet voice interrupting their conversation yanked both women’s eyes to the bar entrance.

“Liara,” the Commander smiled a greeting, pleased to see the affectionate expression returned.

“It ain’t all bad, that’s just the only stuff worth remembering.” Aethyta offered up a mild protest before pouring a glass of wine. Shepard recognized the unique, golden color of asari honey mead. Did Liara actually come down here and drink often enough for the bartender to know her favorite? Or was it part of the same magical knowledge that had blue fingers reaching for turian liquor the moment Shepard walked in?

“Then I shudder to think what things you’ve forgotten. Thank you.” Liara appreciatively accepted the drink. The Matriarch nodded, eyes resting on the younger asari for a long moment with an emotion Shepard couldn’t quite place. She looked wistful in a way, gentle for a brief second before slipping back into her casual, indifferent reserve.

“I’m glad you had a few minutes to meet me. God knows there hasn’t been much down time on this hell ride.” The Commander raised her glass in toast to this unexpected but pleasant opportunity. She hadn’t talked with Liara, _properly_ talked, since before the _Normandy_ was lost. Even though it had only been weeks in her mind, it was starting to feel like the actual years that everyone told her had passed. The blue eyes that had been so shielded last time they met softened now, Liara lifting her glass to clink against the soldier’s and smiling at the sweet, chiming note.

“I know. We didn’t have much of a chance to catch up before, did we?” The scientist took a petite sip of her wine before setting it aside, focusing completely on her former shipmate, “How are you, really?”

“Really?” Shepard took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh that turned to an ironic chuckle, “I’m back from the dead, labeled a terrorist and _still_ trying to save the galaxy. I think, at this point, most shrinks would call it a complex of some kind. Savior disease or something.”

“Then they’ll have to name it after you,” Liara laughed, a light melodic sound, “It certainly seems to be part of your nature. Thank the Goddess, yours is the only personality I’ve ever seen that’s strong enough to do the job.”

A blue hand closed over Shepard’s at that point, squeezing slightly to emphasize the warmth of her words. The Commander hadn’t even realized how much she needed that reassurance until she felt her shoulders easing back, the knots in her stomach and jaw slowly unclenching. Liara always had such a soothing effect, her confidence in Shepard one of the few constants the soldier had been able to rely on when everything else was falling to pieces. She gave unconditionally; affection, support, understanding, trust, and she’d never judged Shepard for not being able to do the same.

“Thanks,” the Commander turned her hand, white fingers interlacing with blue, “Enough about my boring, suicidal life. What about you? What’s happening with your Shadow Broker vendetta?”

“I’m not after revenge. I want justice,” Liara immediately argued, slightly offended by the accusation. Shepard might have believed her, if not for her eyes flashing the same dangerous color as an ocean about to swallow the world.

“For Feron.” The soldier dredged up the name from their last, brief conversation.

“Yes,” the asari admitted, not hiding the sadness in her gaze at mention of her lost associate, “But for others too. The Shadow Broker has done untold damage, ruined tens of thousands of lives. He has to be stopped.”

“And who better to do the job than a prothean archaeologist?” Shepard teased, catching the faint chuckle that broke Liara’s frown.

“I have developed other interests, you know.” The playful rebuke broke the last threads of gravity that had weighed the conversation, both women smiling easily once more.

“So I hear. Now tell me, it’s been two years: have you finally given in and confessed your undying love to Lieutenant Williams?” Shepard laughed when Liara choked on a sip of wine. Aethyta shot her a dark look and poured a glass of water, urging the poor maiden to breathe.

“Shepard!” The asari finally got enough air to snap a horrified, embarrassed rebuke.

“What? I figure you might’ve had a thing for soldiers. She looks great in a uniform, probably even better out of it,” the Commander shot her friend a wink before continuing with the list, “She can pick off geth from over 200 yards and -.”

“And she’s the xenophobic product of generations of military careers.” Liara arched one brow, the cool correction her polite way of calling bullshit on the whole idea.

“I was helping her get past that,” Shepard frowned. Ashley had made incredible progress towards shedding family baggage and accepting other races during her time aboard the _Normandy_. Had the last two years changed her? It worried the soldier to think of her former shipmate returning to the narrow, fearful opinions that had so limited her world before. Ashley was one of the many people Shepard had yet to catch up with. Another guilty notch in the back of her mind.

“I’m sure she does her best to honor your example. Regardless, I have no interest whatsoever in Lt. Williams and I certainly never did. I was much too busy with other concerns.” The firm set of Liara’s lips sealed the door on that option and nailed it shut for good measure.

“Right. Protheans, Reapers, Geth, Saren.” Shepard could barely comprehend all the problems and mysteries that had them racing from one edge of the galaxy to the other back then. They were spinning circles so often it was amazing she never shot herself in the ass.

“You.” Liara finished the list, making the Commander’s eyes shoot up in surprise.

She stated the fact calmly, like it was part of one of her archaeology reports, but a hint of color still rose in her cheeks, marking it a confession. The slight purple shade made her look just as shy and vulnerable as she had when they first met. Shepard felt her own face color, warmth flushing her skin as she ducked her head, cursing herself for bringing up a subject like Liara’s love life. It was bound to wind in this direction. A masochistic voice in her head was whispering under her thoughts, reminding her that maybe she’d wanted this conversation to happen. She needed to talk to _someone_.

“Liara, do you,” the soldier paused, studying her drink, noticing how very little she’d had and wondering if it wouldn’t be easier to be drunk for this kind of question, “Do you ever wonder what it would’ve been like if we’d . . .?”

She let the sentence hang, not entirely certain how to finish. Particularly with Aethyta standing so damn close and obviously listening to every word.

“If we’d joined souls to share our deepest thoughts and feelings? Connecting to the residual knowledge and memories of millennia in this universe and leaving a piece of ourselves behind?” Liara finished the question with a lyrical, breathy description that sounded more like poetry than anything Shepard had imagined.

“I was going to say kissed, but ok, let’s go with that.” The Commander agreed, earning a bubbling release of laughter from the amused asari. It was nice to see that so much time in human company had finally helped her master the subtleties of humor.

“Shepard, we never kissed because you weren’t interested in anything more and I wanted everything else,” Liara sighed, taking one pensive sip of wine before she smiled again, “I think everyone falls in love with you, in one way or another. Even Wrex.”

“Wrex tried to kill me,” the soldier quickly protested.

“That’s how krogans flirt.” Aethyta chimed in, not even pretending to be busy with anything else as she eavesdropped.

“I was just one of your many victims. I didn’t understand until later that being your friend would last far longer than being a lover. I’m glad you knew better.” Liara squeezed Shepard’s hand once more, a reminder that their relationship was special enough.

“Yeah, but now I feel like an asshole,” the Commander admitted with a grimace.

“Sounds like you were.” The bartender seconded her opinion, earning a sharp glare from Liara. The warning was implicit: one more outburst and the ever-so-polite archaeologist would open a singularity inside Aethyta’s sphincter. The biting gaze took Shepard by surprise but she grinned, impressed by the show of force. Liara returned her attention to the Commander, a twinge of embarrassment and pride mingling in her nervous smile after revealing this harder edge she’d developed.

“What makes you bring this up now, Shepard?” The maiden’s expression softened back to the gentle soul she kept protected beneath her new armor, “You were never inclined to think of the past or have regrets.”

“I wasn’t, was I? I guess dying raised a few questions.” The soldier studied her drink once more, thinking that maybe she should slam it back and numb her tongue before it got her into trouble.

“Such as?”

That was why Liara was always the person Shepard thought of when she wanted to talk. Or when she wanted to talk but knew she might not be able to. The asari had a brutally analytical mind behind all that tender helpfulness. She couldn’t be distracted by deflections or humor; she honed in on some crack in her friend’s tone or words and worked it open. The maiden must’ve been born with a gift for ferreting out information.

“Such as what I’m living for? Besides saving everyone in the galaxy and their pet pyjak too.” The Commander leaned back in her seat, blowing out a frustrated burst of air.

Being the best soldier she could be had always felt like enough before. The willingness to die for duty had been trained into her blood and bone, an understanding that the only reason to fight for survival was to face death again. She’d done both. Damn well, too. But the ultimate sacrifice didn’t get the galaxy a single micron closer to safety and maybe it was time to think in less suicidal terms.

“Shepard,” Liara’s breath hitched slightly as a startled realization crept across her eyes, “You’ve met someone, haven’t you? You’re thinking about a relationship. An actual future.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Shepard rolled her eyes, praying the heat she felt around her collar didn’t progress to a full blush, “I’m living on borrowed time and planning to go get my ass handed to me by a bunch of bugs on the edge of the galaxy. If getting involved with me was stupid before, it’s absolutely batshit crazy now.”

Of course, “fucking psychotic” was pretty much stamped on the cover of Jack’s file, wasn’t it? Shepard felt a hint of amusement tug at her lips before she caught the thought and shoved it away. This was her problem, her garbage. Jack didn’t need to be part of it. The woman had enough of her own shit to deal with.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Liara’s brow markings moved like a knowing smile, “I’m sure you want to be utterly selfless and heroic, as usual. Goddess, you can be so stubborn. Your first instinct is always to protect others, mostly at your own expense. No one can do that forever, not even you. When was the last time you thought about what _you_ actually want?”

_Last night. This morning. Any minute when I’m alone with myself and the memory of rasping laughter and eyes that strip you bare._ Shepard swallowed back the swell of words blocking her throat, releasing only a bitter chuckle instead.

“Trust me, Liara, I think about it plenty.” Apparently the cocky, ironic turn of her mouth wasn’t enough to assuage the intense blue gaze.

“Then why are you sitting here with a cranky, old matriarch instead of going after it?” Liara’s lower lip curled inward slightly, teeth biting back the teasing laughter so obviously poised on the edge of her question.

“Who’s old?” Aethyta bristled at the accusation, completely ignored.

“Wanting something doesn’t make it right.” The Commander repeated the mantra like it was one of the survival lessons from her N7 training days. She clung to the logic. Her tongue could form the words without even thinking about them anymore, trying to force the reality deeper into her mind. Amusement vanished from Liara’s expression, giving way to an understanding tinged with pained sympathy. She turned to face her friend straight on and took both of her hands in a firm grip.

“Shepard, if there’s anything I know about you, any one reason I fell in love with you back then, it’s the fact that you’ve always cut through ideas of right and wrong and simply done what’s _best_.” The gentle reminder finished in a sigh, Liara’s warm words laced with tender but weary impatience. She sounded like she was getting tired of pointing out the bloody obvious.

Shepard forced herself to sit still, to hold her tongue and not argue back. She had to at least _try_ to absorb the kind praise rather than rejecting it outright like a reflex. It wasn’t just a compliment. Liara was good at building her ego but this was more than a pep talk. The asari maiden was more than three times her age; breathtakingly innocent in so many ways but still full of experiences and wisdom that Shepard knew she needed. She mulled over the words, finding the subtle advice beneath the reassurances. Forget right and wrong; what’s best?

“Okay, Liara. I’ll work on it.” The Commander finally nodded her assent.

“That’s all anyone can do,” Liara let out a deep breath of relief, relaxing now that she knew the message got through, “So, are you going to tell me about her?”

“Her? I never said it was a woman.” Shepard immediately hedged, guard up as she rapidly reviewed the conversation to see if she’d slipped. A light, lilting trill of laughter pulled her back from such defenses.

“You forget: I’ve been inside your head several times.” Liara released the human’s hands and reached for her drink, pushing Shepard’s glass towards her as well.

“That was supposed to be so you could rummage through the mess the Protheans left behind, not to scavenge information about my love life.” The Commander raised one eyebrow in deliberate accusation. She could still remember the disorientation of letting another into her thoughts, the feeling of being inside and outside herself at the same time, hearing words as emotion rather than sound.

“As I said, you have a very strong personality. It was impossible to avoid picking up a few extra facts.” Glittering mischief danced in innocent blue, hinting at the wide range of information Liara had gathered from the soldier's memories.

Shepard considered her options. She could try an outright denial, but the asari always saw through her lies. A flash of humor would only buy her a few minutes to come up with another answer. The fond curiosity in Liara’s eyes was nothing if not stubborn; much the same look she gave puzzles and artifacts. It was an absolute promise that regardless of what strategy Shepard tried, she’d have the truth before they parted ways. The soldier started to speak, but a sixth sense prickled the back of her neck a fraction of a second before heavy footfall hit her ears.

“You done yet? Cheerleader’s bitching about wanting to get the hell out of here and sitting in the dock with Blue Tits is annoying my ass off!” Jack’s hostility tended to enter rooms ahead of her actual body, waves of anger and profanity radiating off her like an announcement of impending doom. The convict strode into the bar, boredom and irritation trumping her usual expression of imminent violence.

“Guess that’s it for my down time.” Shepard offered Liara a rueful smile of apology as she got to her feet. The asari’s brow furrowed, lines betraying the knot of thoughts untangling in her head as she observed the slight changes in her friend’s demeanor. The Commander knew she’d stood up a little too eagerly, smiled too soon, given away in a dozen tiny clues all the answers Liara needed.

_Too late to pretend._ Shepard offered a small shrug of one shoulder, silently confirming the suspicion in the maiden’s eyes.

“I apologize for keeping the Commander away,” Liara gracefully masked any surprise, turning her attention to Jack, “I am Liara T’Soni of her former command. And you are?”

“Not dumb enough to use my fucking name on planets where I’m wanted,” the convict sneered at the attempted civility.

“For god’s sake, drink this before you start a fight.” Shepard passed the biotic her mostly full glass.

She was used to the tattooed woman being rude with everyone she met, but it felt like Jack was going out of her way to be harsh with Liara. To her credit, the asari maiden showed absolutely no reaction to the stunning display of antagonism and merely turned back to Shepard. Her eyes were full of disbelief, a silent _“Really?”_ radiating plain as day out of the laughing color. They both watched Jack kick back the full glass of liquor in a single gulp, drawing a sharp breath through clenched teeth as the fire consumed her throat.

“Whatever that is, it’s overpriced piss. You ready, Girl Scout?” Jack grimaced at the lingering taste.

"In a minute. You go ahead," Shepard nodded, just enough authority in her voice to make the dismissal a command. Jack was getting better at obeying those. Barely.

“Whatever.” The tattooed woman turned away and didn’t even look before flinging the glass over her shoulder. A flash of Aethyta’s biotics caught the tumbler before it could smash into the shelves behind the counter. Jack stalked out of the bar without a backward glance.

“I like her.” The bartender’s gruff laugh filled the ensuing silence.

“Apparently, you aren’t the only one,” Liara’s markings arched up in amusement, mostly at the Commander’s expense, “Just remember what I said, Shepard. And try not to die this time.”

“You got it.” Shepard tossed off a smart salute before she turned and strolled away. She felt lighter as she made her way to the docking bay, one less burden on her shoulders and no guilt behind her smile.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to create a dynamic for Shepard and Liara that honors their past. Also hoping to strike a balance between Liara's former sweet and kind personality and the harder edges that have set in during the last two years. Let me know if anything feels inconsistent.


	8. Games

Jack wasn’t expecting to hear footsteps coming below deck this evening. It was obvious in the speed of her head snapping up to face Shepard’s approach. There was a brief dart of surprise across her eyes, a curl was that almost a smile at the edge of her mouth before she set her jaw and went back to glaring at the wall.

“What happened? Your new blue friend toss you out for staring at her tits?” Jack’s voice was too apathetic to even be scornful, masking any trace of emotion beneath her usual annoyance.

“I don’t think she’d care,” Shepard shrugged, strolling into the alcove as she had every other night for the past few weeks. She leaned against the wall facing Jack, forcing the biotic to look up. The anger that sparked in those dark brown eyes was brighter and more deadly than usual, a lit fuse looking for its bomb.

“Then how about you go back to her place and stop bothering the shit out of me?” Jack turned away, flopping back on her cot to scowl at the ceiling.

“’Cause bothering you is a hell of a lot more fun than watching a Matriarch meditate. Even if she does have a great rack.” The Commander refused to be ruffled by the irritated dismissal, dropping to the floor in her usual spot.

“Fucking perv.” The biotic rolled her eyes but didn’t fight the hint of smile returning to her lips.

“What? You can notice but I can’t? That’s not exactly fair.” Shepard gave her best attempt at an shocked protest, conjuring up every vid she’d ever seen with a heroine defending her besmirched honor. What constituted a good besmirching, anyway? Knowing that would probably help sell the look because Jack clearly wasn’t buying it.

“I’m not the one pretending to be a hero, Girl Scout.” Jack finally let out the chuckle she’d been biting back, rolling to one side to face the soldier. The snapping venom in her eyes had mellowed to a low fire. She couldn’t possibly know that any trace of danger made her gaze smolder like stoked coals.

“I’m a very modern hero, Jack. Saving the galaxy during the day and seducing dangerous women at night.” Shepard heard a thousand alarm bells going off in her head as soon as the words hit her ears. _Did I just-?_ Her lips suddenly went dry, a feeling like splintering glass racing across her mouth but she stubbornly kept a cocky smirk in place. The convict’s eyes narrowed, a line splitting her brow as she stared hard at the other woman, scouring her words and face for meaning. Shepard’s tongue twisted behind her teeth, desperate to wipe away the truth that had slipped out, but she kept her jaw clenched tight.

“Right,” Jack scoffed, walls slamming down over any suspicion that had started to surface in her thoughts, “Guess you could do worse then. Tough call between Blue’s tits and Miranda’s ass, though.”

“True. They’d be a hard choice for Fuck, Kill, Marry.” The soldier let out a low, controlled sigh of relief, gratefully wetting her lips now that Jack’s gaze wasn’t trying to peel her apart.

“Who the hell is Fuckheel Mary? Some famous hooker?” A psychopathic killer seldom shows confusion. On Jack bewilderment wore extra disdain, a thread of paranoia always watching for tricks.

“It’s not a person, Jack, it’s a game. Fuck. Kill. Mary. You’ve never played it?” Shepard bit back her laughter, fully aware that laughing at the deadly biotic would be a terrible way to die.

“Not a lot of games in a research lab,” Jack scowled and rolled to her back once more. The Commander mentally cursed herself for not seeing that answer a mile away. The convict wasn’t in a good mood tonight, already irritable and distant; Shepard wasn’t about to let her slip all the way back into the miseries of her past.

“It’s fun. You’ll like it, no actual rules and lots of death. I’ll start you,” the soldier rubbed her hands together, rapidly scouring her mind for some easy choices, “Kasumi, Garrus, Miranda. Pick who you’d kill, who you’d fuck and who you’d marry.”

“Shit, you know I’m gonna’ kill the Cheerleader,” the wicked smile on Jack’s face meant much more than a game, “Fuck Garrus, long as he doesn’t get all clingy. Definitely marry Kasumi.”

“Kasumi? Wow. I did not expect that.” Shepard couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.

“Nothing goes together better than killing and stealing,” Jack shrugged, but rolled to her side once more, favoring the soldier with a mischievous smirk, “My turn. Grunt, Zaeed and Thane.”

“That’s easy, I’m definitely killing Zaeed. Thane’s already dying, so marrying him wouldn’t ruin too much of my life. I guess that means Grunt’s getting lucky.” Shepard wasn’t overly thrilled by that idea, and it showed in her face.

“Ever fucked a krogan, Girl Scout? It’s like riding a damn canon.” Jack’s smile absolutely gloried in watching the Commander grimace

“A mental image I didn’t need,” Shepard squeezed her eyes shut to force away the picture, “Ok, how about this . . .”

They worked their way through all of the crew, several times. Jack consistently opted to kill Jacob or Miranda, even if it meant she ended up marrying Garrus or Joker. Shepard found herself contemplating what a future would be like shackled to the likes of Gabby Daniels, Mordin and -most awkward of all- Dr. Chakwas. She was pleasantly surprised to note that Jack enjoyed a variety of sexual and racial tastes, not shying away from the opportunity to fuck their resident drell if it meant she also got to kill Yeoman Chambers. Poor Kelly got killed almost as often as Jacob. He got killed by both of them. A lot.

“Here’s one to have stuck in your head next time you’re picking a squad: Samara, Miranda and Kasumi.” Jack’s voice wrapped around the three names, putting extra purr into the sound of temptation.

“I’m already halfway to killing Kasumi. If she sneaks into my quarters to move stuff one more time!” Shepard supposed she should be grateful that the thief left signs of her presence; she could all too easily invade the Commander’s quarters without trace. “I’ll fuck Miranda because god knows she’s got a great body and there’s no way in hell I’m spending the rest of my life arguing with her. And marrying Samara wouldn’t be too bad.”

“Not ‘too bad?’ Shit, Shepard, you’re almost drooling. Got a thing for azure, huh?” Jack’s playful taunt had a trace of steel laced in the words. There was real suspicion in the way her eyes tracked Shepard’s face, looking for hints of denial or truth.

“Between those three she makes the most sense! Kasumi and Miranda would both drive me nuts, at least Samara doesn’t try to fight me every time I turn around twice.” Was she defending herself now? From what? It was supposed to be a game!

“Yeah? Then let’s up the stakes.” Jack swung her legs off the cot now, leaning forward like she was preparing an attack.

“It’s my turn -,” Shepard tried to protest but the convict didn’t give her time.

“Your Justicar, the bitch from Omega and Baby Blue. Choose.” The steel in Jack’s voice was even harder, sharpness piercing through.

“Ok, Samara and Aria but,” the Commander’s mind raced, trying to solve several puzzles at once, “Who’s the third?”

“The one you saw today, all innocent looking. Holding hands like it was a fucking first date.” Jack spat the words like she couldn’t get rid of the disgusting taste quickly enough.

The revulsion wasn’t quite enough to hide her anger. Shepard felt it with shocking clarity and she nearly bit through her lip to keep her realization silent. Jack’s surprising rudeness at the bar, the waves of hostility and scorn that kept trying to shut the soldier out; it made sense now. Those were her defense mechanisms when she felt threatened.

“With those three,” the soldier spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully while pretending not to think too hard, “I think Samara is the one to die. Liara is too useful to kill but too innocent to fuck. I guess I’d have to marry her and hope she doesn’t care that I’d spend the whole marriage in Aria’s bed.”

“More like on her couch,” Jack snorted. Then, a heartbeat later, she was chuckling. “I’d fuck her too. But you know me and rules.”

“Never met one you didn’t want to break.” Shepard joined in the light laughter. The thought of Jack storming Afterlife with the intent of defying Omega’s one rule broke the tension that had filled the air like the smell of hot metal. Aria and Jack; would they even get around to fucking or just spend the whole time fighting to top?

“Alright, Girl Scout, your turn.” Jack leaned back against the wall, the predator at ease with her environment once more.

The Commander had almost forgotten that they were playing a game. Or, more accurately, she’d forgotten _which_ game they were playing. It was never just one with this woman. Satisfied that the convict had accepted her answer about Liara, had understood everything she meant, Shepard decided she’d earned a little payback. Fuck, Kill, Marry was only as fun as you made it, after all.

“Miranda, Jacob and the Illusive Man.” She was just juvenile enough to delight in the expression of horror and disgust that contorted Jack’s face.

“I can only kill one of them?! Goddamnit, Shepard!” The convict’s snarl covered the sound of Shepard cackling, “Shit. Shitshitshit. Fine, I’m killing the Illusive Dick. First chance, no question.”

“I figured that much.” The Commander had to dig her nails into one arm to keep her laughter controlled.

“Jacob’s a dumbass but he keeps his mouth shut. Probably could marry the bastard and just wait for him to get himself killed.” Jack’s scorn lightened just a little as she thought of all the different ways a Cerberus agent could die.

“Which leaves?” Shepard leaned forward, turning her ear so she wouldn’t miss a sound.

“Fuck that Cheerleader!” One booted foot came up, planting against Shepard’s chest, and shoved her back against the wall. A little lighter than a kick but hard enough to make a point.

“Exactly right. I’d warn her, but I hate ruining a good surprise.” The Commander laughed, rubbing the back of her head where she’d hit metal.

“And fuck you too,” Jack retorted. The insult lacked its usual venom, more sarcastic than menacing.

“Well, I’d hate to be left out. We’ve covered everyone else,” Shepard shrugged, smile wide and easy.

“Just about,” Jack agreed, debate flickering across her eyes before turning to decision, “I’m the only one left. So how about it? Which one am I?”

That wasn’t the way the game was played. The soldier met Jack’s gaze, gauging the challenge swirling in those dark colors. The biotic was relaxed against the wall but tension was building in the stillness of her body. She wasn’t playing. Fuck. Kill. Marry. Which one?

“You, Jack?” Shepard let out a long breath, using it to steady her voice, “Some days you’re all three.”

Her answer hung in the air, growing louder in the silence that stretched around them.

“Figures you’d say something I can’t get mad about,” Jack finally sighed in irritation. She tried to sound disappointed but the way her eyes slid away from Shepard confessed thoughts she didn’t want seen.

“Sorry, I’ll help you think of reasons to be pissed next time. There’s been enough killing down here tonight.” Shepard climbed to her feet, worried that the joke got no response from the distracted convict. The other woman didn’t even look up. The Commander walked to the edge of the alcove, acutely aware of every echo to her steps.

“Good night, Jack.” She tried not to be upset that the biotic didn’t look at her, didn’t seem to be aware that she was leaving. Had her answer been that upsetting? Jack was only opening up in bits and pieces, maybe she’d pushed too far. No matter how many times it happened, the soldier couldn’t help the swell of frustration and anger that threatened to crowd out rational thought when she made these mistakes.

“Shepard,” the voice scythed through her internal ranting, pausing everything for a heartbeat, “You too.”

The Commander didn’t ask for clarification, didn’t pour out her relief, didn’t allow herself to react at all. She nodded once, not even certain that Jack was watching, and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How fun would that game be with all the Mass Effect characters?! Anyway, sorry it's a shorter chapter without much point but the next couple are going to be important and I wanted to do something light. All comments/feedback/suggestions still welcome.


	9. Wounds of Pragia

Heroes couldn’t be saints. Shepard knew that from experience. Preserving peace and safety for the galaxy often meant doing wrong things for the right reasons. That was why she hadn’t hesitated to free the Rachni, to leave Kaiden behind, to kill her friend’s mother, or let nine Alliance ships perish to save one. She didn’t bat an eye when she found out about Mordin creating the Genophage or Zaeed the Blue Suns. Thane had assassinated hundreds of people simply because he was told while Samara was actively trying to hunt down and kill her own daughter. Shepard had thought nothing could surprise her, that she could accept anyone’s sins in exchange for the service they offered. But there were lines even she wouldn’t cross. There were standards of basic decency that she expected all her allies to follow, no matter their race or agenda.

Kids. They were just _kids_ , dammit!

The Commander had never been so happy to see a bomb go off. With any luck, Pragia would carry an ugly scar of a crater that not even the mutant plant life could cover. Corpses of Blood Pack mercs and varren, the experiment labs and equipment, the prison-like cells etched with fear and misery, the fight pit, blood stains, research; all of it gone. Jack’s cell, gone. The memories though, would be a different matter.

Shepard kept an eye on the tattooed biotic as the shuttle flew back to _Normandy_. She wanted to think of something to say but nothing felt right. There weren’t any words for how much she wished she could take away everything Jack had suffered, the frustration of knowing she couldn’t. The bitterness clogged her throat, burned behind her eyes, an unidentifiable, aimless rage that wanted to lash out at everything around her. Was this how it felt to be Jack?

Thank god she only brought Grunt with them on this mission. She’d originally chosen him because he and the convict seemed to get along so well. That wasn’t terribly difficult since all either them ever wanted to do was destroy shit. Now, Shepard was ten times as glad to have the krogan’s stony visage across from her. She wasn’t sure she could face Miranda or Jacob. It was going to be hours before she’d be able to talk to them, probably days before she could look at the Cerberus logo on their uniforms and not think about how it matched the symbols on every computer console and piece of equipment in that sick nightmare. The same as on her uniform. Shepard glanced down, half expecting to see the hated logo emblazoned across her own torso in blood. The sight of her familiar N7 armor was a welcome relief.

Jack refused to meet her eyes. The biotic just glared hard at nothing, hand still clenched tight around the detonator like her last weapon against the entire universe. She’d taken a lot of damage in the fights below. Her barriers were insanely strong but she hadn’t been thinking about defense. From the moment they walked into the Teltin facility, Jack was wound for attack. For every foot they stepped into the past, her need to hurt, to break, to kill became more urgent; a violent, visceral desperation that dragged her into suicidal assaults, ignored all danger and fixated only on the prospect of inflicting pain.

The chaos of her tattoos concealed a lot of the damage but Shepard’s eye had grown familiar with the terrain of Jack’s skin. She knew how to see the difference between ink and injury. Bruises, cuts, burns, bullet grazes; the convict was covered in dozens of minor wounds. The worst was visible only for a split second. When the shuttle landed, Jack was out of her seat and through the hatch instantly, allowing the Commander a fleeting glimpse of several deep gashes that raked from her shoulder down into her back. Melee with a vorcha or varren?

Jack was gone before Shepard could say a word and the soldier had no choice but to chase after her. Except, she had to give orders to the flight crew. And tell Grunt to report to Chakwas for his burns. And drag Grunt down to the medbay herself because he fought treatment almost as stubbornly as Wrex. Krogans and their stupid scar fetish. Then, because she was in the medbay and Dr. Chakwas was the only person on the entire ship capable of giving the Commander orders, Shepard had to sit still and let her own cuts and fractures be healed.

It was almost thirty minutes before the soldier was free and she kept her gait calm and dignified until she was in the elevator, then she slammed her fist into the controls and bounced on her feet, silently willing it to move faster. She raced out as soon as the doors opened and lunged down the two sets of stairs until her boots landed with a knee-jarring thud on the metal decking below Engineering. Her own hurried footsteps began to mingle with another rhythm, and as she grew closer she recognized the sound of Jack pacing. It was not a good sign, but better than the noise of machinery screaming as it was ripped apart or the ship’s walls groaning from biotic attack.

The Commander stopped just inside the entrance to Jack’s alcove, uncertain as to how much space the other woman needed right now. She was pacing like a caged animal and Shepard could barely make out a constant stream of profanity on her breath. The walls sported a few new dents; fortunately none were spattered in blood. Jack’s hand were still clenched into fists and occasional waves of biotic energy crackled up her arms but not at levels that could rip the ship apart.

“You ok?” Shepard loudly broke the convict’s rhythm, halting her hostile rant. She knew it was a dumb question but right now being dumb was the only thing keeping her from being suicidal. Asking the obvious kept her from acting, from crossing the space and grabbing the tightly wound ball of fury, just to hold her and endure all the cursing and violence and shockwaves until the woman finally gave in and calmed down.

“The fuck do you think?!” Jack snarled back, the same way a wild animal snaps at attackers. She wasn’t in the mood for stupid. Or questions, for that matter.

“I think that blowing up the whole galaxy wouldn’t be enough for you right now.” Shepard eased another step into the alcove, testing the boundaries.

“No,” the biotic shook her head, scowling at nothing for a long second before looking back, “But if I said that’s what I wanted to do, you’d probably hand me the damned trigger.”

“It _would_ be a great ‘fuck you’ to the Reapers.” The soldier felt safe enough to risk a smirk.

Jack’s face stayed hard for several long heartbeats, hatred and bitterness fighting to hold ground in her eyes. The rage was waning, ever so slightly, a hint of appreciation creeping into the unforgiving harshness of her gaze. Without warning, a single scoff of irritation at the back of her throat broke apart the last of the defensive fury shielding Jack's thoughts and she sank onto her bunk.

“I needed to wipe that place off the map. You took me there to do it and I owe you.” She ran one hand over the smooth skin of her head. What had her hair been like before she shaved it all off? Shepard slapped away the obtrusive thought, focusing on the other woman as she continued speaking.

“You don’t know what it’s like, Shepard. To have garbage like that following you, it marks you in ways you . . . you don’t expect.” Jack’s voice, raspy and raw at the best of times, was like sandpaper now, chafing with emotions violently controlled. She lay back on her thin bed, eyes half-lidded and glassy as she stared into nothing.

“I’ve made a lot of hard choices, Jack. Like what to let go.” The soldier took a few more steps, coming into the personal space bubble that she usually only invaded with the permission of liquor and late hours. Wrong things for the right reasons; Shepard had dozens of those decisions that she could replay in her head at night if she didn’t shove them away. The past was over, all that mattered was what happened next.

“Hard to walk away from it. You’d think it would get easier now the place is a crater, but what else do I know?” The question trailed off into a cynical sigh, rhetoric not looking for an answer. It sounded like a fate she’d faced and accepted a hundred times over. What could she possibly do besides fight?

“I never thought I’d see you show mercy, but you let Aresh live.” That was an answer in itself.

“He was trapped in the past, reliving it every day. You showed how that could be me. I’m not getting stuck like that. I’m better than him and I’m sure as hell not carrying that crater around with me.” The biotic’s lips curled with the same scorn that she felt for weak enemies, innocents and non-lethal force.

“Think you’re different now?” Shepard couldn’t help but be surprised by Jack’s resolve. The woman that they brought on board from Purgatory was absolutely consumed by her past, filled with nothing but ideas for revenge against everyone who’d ever hurt her. She had the potential to be so much more than a walking list of grudges and wrongs, but that was all she’d cared about. Had she actually changed that much?

“I know that place is gone,” Jack swung her legs off the bunk, sitting up but avoiding Shepard’s eyes, “But I still kind of want to kill every person I see. No offense.”

The Commander let out a breath that was almost laughter. Expecting Jack to put aside the violent homicidal streak was a little too much, too soon. Besides, that psychotic nature was exactly why she was perfect for this mission in the first place. For all their time together, the soldier couldn’t get a read on Jack’s thoughts in this moment. Her answers were vague, introspective, devoid of the usual confidence that came from purposeful rage and destruction. She reminded Shepard of a ship without power, drifting aimlessly in space towards no destination besides oblivion.

“You sure about this? I’ll do whatever I can to help you get your head on straight.” The Commander knew better than to offer a shoulder to cry on. Jack would sooner rip it off. But she had to remind the biotic that there were options, she didn’t have to fight through all of this alone.

“Don’t get all therapist on me, Shepard. You’re not the couch type,” a small, teasing smirk tugged at Jack’s mouth, “I hate that stuff anyway. Bullshit prison psych. You did me a favor and that’s enough. More than I expected. I’ll keep it together.”

She said it without irritation or threat but the warning was still implicit: no more questions. Jack was done talking. About Teltin and her feelings, anyway. Time for a new subject.

“You got injured planetside.” Shepard had a little more trouble spotting the injuries in the dim light but she had traced every one of them with her eyes half a dozen times on the shuttle.

“Just a bunch of scratches. I already used some medi-gel.” The biotic extended one arm, displaying livid marks already healing into pale white lines. In a few more hours there would be nothing to see but healthy skin and crazy ink.

“And the ones on your back?” Shepard folded her arms, leaning to one side to catch a glimpse of the red gashes around Jack’s spine.

“Can’t reach. They’ll heal on their own.” The convict twisted around, concealing the injuries and glaring at the soldier.

“They’ll get infected,” _especially down here,_ “You should let Chakwas patch you up.”

“Like hell. I’m not going near doctors or exam tables, Shepard.” Jack got to her feet, more than ready for a fight. It was the first time the Commander saw a glint of fire come back into her eyes since setting foot in Teltin. She flashed back to the exam rooms they’d seen, chairs with straps for every part of the body and trays of tools that made her skin crawl. The harsh reaction was actually a twisted survival instinct.

“Ok,” Shepard nodded holding up her hands in surrender, “Where’s the medi-gel?”

“Why?” Jack’s suspicious nature was always trying to think three steps ahead, looking for traps. Her fists uncurled but her eyes were narrow, scrutinizing the soldier for any hint of a trick. She couldn’t just accept anything at face value could she? The Commander sighed and stripped off her gauntlets.

“Because I’ll put it on. Those cuts are deep, Jack.” Shepard had thought the answer was entirely obvious.

She braced herself for an argument, or a rude suggestion to go sexually assault herself elsewhere. Jack had an endlessly creative supply of those. Instead, after a few tense seconds of silent deliberation, the biotic wordlessly grabbed a tube off the workbench and tossed it to her. The Commander was so surprised she fumbled the catch, almost dropping the medi-gel and only recovering it at the last second. She glanced up and caught the tail end of Jack’s amused smirk before the convict sank down on her bunk, turning to expose her back.

Shepard sat down behind the tattooed biotic, squirting a portion of the astringent goo into her fingers. She took one deep breath and silently reminded herself to keep her hand steady no matter what shocks jumped out at her. The first brush of her fingers started at the shoulder and Shepard didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until it released in surprise. No vibration. No sparks or pulses of sensation coursing into her skin. Layers of relief and confusion almost drowned out the disappointment that sank in her stomach. She focused on applying the medicine, trying not to touch the angry edges of the ripped flesh as she spread gel into the gashes.

The Commander worked silently. She’d already covered half of the gruesome claw marks before she felt it. The faint hum was back, little more than a purr beneath Jack’s skin. It grew stronger the closer her fingers moved towards the woman’s spine until she was dragging her fingers along an edge of bone that felt like touching an engine. Shepard bit her lip, the throb beneath her hand brought back vivid dream sensations, memories of this feeling pulsing against her whole body.

“Jack,” Shepard swallowed, throat suddenly dry, “What is that?”

“Didn’t you get the picture down there, Girl Scout? I’m fucking supercharged.” For some reason, the biotic didn’t sound as hostile as her words. In fact, there had been a hesitation before she spoke, a split second that felt like she hadn’t even heard the question.

“Dark energy? It’s just fluctuating around you all the time?” The Commander applied another handful of medi-gel, hoping the clinical activity would keep her voice casual and detached. Rather than trembling the way it felt in her throat.

“Shit reacts to eezo and electricity. All biotics have both. I just got a lot more juice in my battery.” Jack might not have liked how she got her power, but she still sounded smug about wielding it. Even when she couldn’t see the other woman’s face, there could be no doubt of the smirk on her lips.

“Why doesn’t it feel the same everywhere?” Shepard’s fingers had found another patch of skin that was smooth and still beneath her touch.

“It doesn’t?” The biotic’s head turned in surprise, her perfect profile momentarily dropping guard as she exposed real confusion. Hadn’t anyone ever noticed before? Had no one told her?

“No. There’s nothing here, not until I move,” the soldier dragged her fingers back towards the first hum of energy and she could tell from Jack’s breath that she felt the difference, “It’s faint, like purring. Then it gets steadily stronger all the way to your spine.”

“Must be the nodules. They don’t lace eezo through every inch of us, or they haven’t found a way yet.” The short laugh was meant to sound bitter, but there was nervousness underneath.

“So there must be nodules here,” Shepard found the spot on Jack’s ribs that had been seared into her memory, “Where else?”

“Hell if I know. It’s not like I could pay attention through all the drugs when they were cutting me open.” The biotic’s growl lacked its usual bite, and she didn’t move away from the hands that were starting to carefully map every inch of her skin.

The Commander moved her fingers slowly along the expanse of Jack’s back, systematically exploring the feel. She kept trying to focus on the basic anatomy she remembered: vertebrae, ribs, scapulae, but her hands were unconsciously following the contours of color that slithered all over Jack’s flesh. The tattoos were a world in themselves and far too distracting. Shepard closed her eyes, listening only with her fingers and gradually she found the vibrations that dragged her to move. The light, fleeting pulses of electricity guided her touch, an almost magnetic pull drawing her towards the heavier throbs.

There was a cluster of eezo nodules on the left side of Jack’s neck. A buzzing thread lead from there to her arm, another cluster in her bicep thrummed through the sinewy muscle. On her right, Shepard found the hard pulse of eezo beneath her ribs. Slippery sparks raced ahead of her fingers along the contour of bone and wrapped around her front. When her hand grazed Jack’s stomach, there was a pulse like the _Normandy’s_ own drive core roaring to life. It spread across her abdomen, the hard muscles practically quivering beneath Shepard’s fingers. The electrical charge seemed to reach through her skin, to grab hold of the soldier’s hand and hold her in place. Her fingers itched to flex, to curl around that foreign sensation, to grip it tight until the current fed up her arm and into her whole body.

A tiny, stifled gasp jerked Shepard’s mind out of its reverie. She couldn’t tell if the sound had come from herself or Jack but she was suddenly very aware of their position. Her left hand still had hold of the biotic’s arm and her right was fanned wide across her stomach. She didn’t know if it was her grip or Jack’s own movement that had the woman pressed up against her armor. The heavy, N7 armor that hopefully silenced the pounding in her chest that was making it hard for her to hear anything else. She’d never been this close. Her mouth was right next to Jack’s ear; when she parted her lips she imagined she could taste the metal wrapped around its curve. Her tongue darted against the edge of her teeth and she clamped her jaw tight to resist such temptation. It would be so easy to lean forward a fraction of an inch, to inhale the scent of Jack’s skin, to see how the electrical purr felt against her mouth.

Jack hadn’t moved. The biotic was holding perfectly still, the only signs of life were her brief breaths, shallow and irregular. Shepard felt the hum beneath her hands speeding up, pulsing like a racing heartbeat. Was she panicking? Excited? Paralyzed or patient? Shepard wasn’t blasted across the room. Her arms hadn’t been ripped off or even broken. Jack hadn’t slammed an elbow back into her gut or muttered a single curse. Maybe she was just as shocked and confused as the soldier. Maybe she didn’t want Shepard to let go.

With a silent scream of protest, the Commander knew she had to stop. Even if Jack wasn’t asking her to, even if the biotic actually wanted her to continue, this wasn’t the time. The convict was too raw, her physical wounds were all healing but everything else had been ripped open and left bleeding. Shepard had seen so much of Jack’s past today. The raging child smashing against unbreakable glass, invisible to the world around her. The terrified test subject, strapped down and tortured. Worst of all, the agonized fighter, drugged and shocked into violence until killing could make her happy. But what the Commander’s mind returned to, over and over again, was the little girl, curled up under her table, huge brown eyes rimmed in red from hours of bawling. That was who she was holding.

Reluctantly, she peeled her hands off Jack’s skin, her fingers resisting like they were glued to the humming warmth. The biotic twitched once, like she wanted to move but couldn’t. Her only reaction when Shepard pulled away was a sigh, more evident in the fall of her shoulders than any sound from her lips.

“I’ve never felt anything like that, Jack,” Shepard’s throat clenched in panic around the sincerity but words were the only thing that tethered her to control, “You’re kind of amazing.”

“Fuck yeah, I am. Did you see what I did to that shithole monster lab?” The convict swiftly retreated into her familiar badass armor, no hint in her voice or bearing of what had just happened.

The Commander, on the other hand, felt like she was wound tight enough to shatter and she desperately needed to erase the sensation of skin that had almost brushed her lips. She bent over, rummaging beneath the bunk amidst the many empty bottles that had accumulated over their evenings. She brushed one that rolled away slightly heavier than the rest and knew it still contained relief.

“That place got exactly what it deserved,” Shepard grunted, emerging with the bottle.

She had barely opened it and taken a drink before Jack snatched it away. The biotic took a swallow that was longer and heavier than she’d ever seen and the soldier knew she was trying to burn away her own reactions. The Commander knew what she needed to not think about – _smooth skin humming beneath her hands, begging for a tighter grip, a trail of nails and lips savoring the electricity that radiated into her, through her._ What was Jack trying to forget?

“Think that bastard made it out before the bomb?” The convict wiped her mouth of errant liquor and passed the bottle back. Her chest rose and fell in the rapid, shallow rhythm that betrayed an urgent need for air. Probably breathless from the long drink. Most likely. Maybe.

“I saw a few shuttles blasting out. If they reached the edge of atmo before the explosion, they probably made it through.” The Commander didn’t envy them the bumpy ride they would’ve endured. Even their own craft got tossed like a toy boat in a sea storm by the shockwaves that raced past. Mercenaries weren’t known for their piloting skills.

“Dumbass,” Jack’s growl was laced with equal measures of scorn and bitter laughter, “Nothing good was ever going to come out of that fucking place.”

“Nothing besides you, anyway,” Shepard grinned, shooting the convict a wink before tilting her head back and drowning her thoughts in liquid relief.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking some liberties with the game's conversation timeline, placing this one between Shepard and Jack before the fight with Miranda. Don't worry, the fight is still coming.


	10. Tension

If Jack and Miranda ever came to blows, Shepard wasn’t sure who would have the advantage. She’d watched both of them in battle and been impressed by the amount of unmitigated damage either one could do. Jack had the raw, ferocious power but lacked precision. What Miranda’s biotics lacked in unstoppable force, she more than made up for with perfect control and timing. It was like trying to compare the lethal potential of a grenade launcher to a sniper rifle. In the right moment, either spelled absolute death.

Shepard didn’t know who would win in a fight between those two, but she sure as hell knew who would lose. Herself, the crew, probably the entire ship; nothing would be spared if they were allowed to unleash the hostility constantly sparking between them like flint and steel. Biotic battles turned ugly, fast. When the Commander got between the two arguing women, she saw a glint of shared resentment mirrored in both gazes and, for a split second, wondered if they weren’t going to take their rage out on her instead. Jack stayed focused on her real enemy though, and Miranda was too professional to invite a second rebuke.

The Cerberus Operative backed down first, but in a way that declared there would be no truce, no surrender and no peace until one of them was a blood smear on the wall. She invaded Jack’s space with the same condescending threat that laced through her voice, challenging to the very end. Shepard honestly couldn’t tell if Miranda was trying to end the fight or push it past the edge of no return. It was hard to read the enigmatic brunette, especially when she had her full bitch-mode armor in place. The Commander clenched her fist and silently shouted words at Jack, begging the convict to keep her last shreds of control.

The tattooed woman’s response was just as quick, sharp and deadly as Miranda’s, full of the promise of future pain. But for now, it was a cease fire. Jack stormed out, batting away Shepard’s hand when she instinctively reached to check on her. Miranda must have noticed, but she turned away before the Commander could see any reaction in her face. The XO was back in professional mode as she slid back behind her desk, thoughts protected by the shield of duty.

Shepard had grown used to the woman’s way of issuing polite dismissals, never quite telling the soldier to leave but making it clear she shouldn’t stay. If she were being honest, the Commander didn’t particularly want to linger in conversation anyway. Teltin still burned behind her eyes; the smell of piss and fear, blood and cruelty made her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth even when she knew she should say more.

With a curt nod, she started to leave but a slight sound made her pause. It was barely more than the creak of a chair as Miranda shifted uncomfortably, just enough to tell Shepard that her XO had more to say. Turning back, she found the brunette staring hard off to one side, a muscle on one side of her jaw twitching as she mulled silent words.

“Something else, Miss Lawson?” Shepard kept her voice neutral, the cool authority of a superior checking in.

“I reviewed the reports of what you found on Pragia, Commander,” Miranda avoided eye contact for much longer than usual before she finally returned her gaze to Shepard, “That wasn’t Cerberus. It couldn’t have been. I wouldn’t have . . .”

The protest faded into nothing but an irritated clearing of her throat. There were no words for what they’d uncovered in Teltin and she seemed to know as much. Not even her pride and anger with Jack could blind the engineered biotic to the crimes that had been committed. She might be made of ice and stone, but there was still a soul beneath that cold facade. Was she thinking of her own childhood and being sculpted into the perfect biotic daughter against her will? There had to be a reason she hurled the word “mistake” at Jack like it was the most vicious insult in the history of language. She had been created with millions of credits and the best science available while Jack was shaped out of unimaginable tortures, but the result was the same: a human being that felt like a tool instead of a person.

“It wasn’t _you_ , Miranda,” Shepard softened, sliding into a chair opposite the desk, “It wasn’t anyone on this ship and that’s all we need to focus on for now.”

“Of course. Anything else would just be a distraction.” The biotic’s expression was still hesitant, pensive and that muscle in her jaw twitched faster. There was clearly more on her mind. Shepard waited, watched as piercing blue eyes stared through her, then away and then returned once more, settling into a metallic conviction. Miranda’s gaze locked onto the soldier so fiercely that she felt like she was getting a psychic colonoscopy. There was no room for deflection, denial or escape as the XO’s next words broke their silence, “Are you distracted, Shepard?”

“You’ll have to be more specific.” The Commander had evaded questions from the Council and Alliance brass with less sweat on the back of her neck than she felt now. Could the Cerberus agent see into her thoughts at night? Did she know the dreams that made sleep impossible and irresistible at the same time? Had they planted some special monitoring device inside her skull to know that her mind shattered to pieces and put itself together again in a hundred new shapes every time she was around a particularly dangerous, confusing, beguiling member of her team?

“You said that our mission is too important to let personal feelings get in the way. Are you sure that isn’t happening to you?” Miranda watched every twitch and nuance of her face as she spoke, looking for the smallest confession, “If it comes down to our mission or Jack, which will you choose?”

Shepard let out a soft, involuntary sigh of relief. This she could handle.

“That’s not going to happen. The fact that you think it is tells me that you still don’t understand how all of this is supposed to work.” The soldier knew it was a little harsh, but she needed Miranda on defense rather than offense if she was going to control the conversation. “We need these people, Miranda. All of them. There is no mission without them. We need them operating at their peak performance to survive. That means no grudges clouding their thoughts, no regrets weighing them down and certainly no unfinished business holding them back.”

“I’m not objecting to the personal missions, Shepard.” Miranda folded her arms, defensive but not distracted from the main issue at hand.

“What this team needs more than anything is trust. We’re headed for suicide and the only chance for success, let alone survival, is everyone doing their job and trusting the others to do theirs. But let’s be realistic, that isn’t going to happen.” The Commander was grateful to see the slightest quirk of her audience’s eyebrow, an ironic acceptance that what she said was true. “A salarian that helped create Genophage and a genetically engineered ‘Ultimate krogan.’ A Justicar and an assassin? Soldiers, mercenaries and terrorists,” Shepard saw Miranda open her mouth to object but spoke over her, “There’s no way this crew will ever trust each other. So I need them to trust me. If I can get that much, can earn their respect and loyalty, then when the chips are down they’ll listen and follow orders and maybe— _maybe_ —we’ll all make it out with our skins.”

“Alright, you’re the Commander.” Miranda leaned back in her chair, giving the soldier a softer scrutiny that suggested she knew exactly what tactic her superior had just used and wasn’t fooled in the slightest. The biotic had grown more tactful over the past weeks, either out of weariness from the fighting or the begrudged, mutual respect that had begun to blossom. Then she leaned forward again, concern and amusement twisting across her tiny smile, “Just be safe.”

“I know, I know, don’t get ripped apart by the scary biotic. I’d hate to make Cerberus pay for repairing me twice.” Shepard rolled her eyes but smiled all the same as she got to her feet. Miranda was still terribly single-minded about protecting her work.

“No,” the biotic’s honeyed accent was sharp as it cut her off, “We can always repair your body, Shepard. But there are other ways you can be hurt. I’m not worried about Jack because she’s an unstable biotic that can rip your limbs off with a single burst of temper.”

“Oh good.” The soldier tried not to let that image play in her mind for too long.

“I’m worried about what I won’t be able to fix. The part no one else can protect but you.” Miranda wasn’t going to be any more specific. She didn’t have to be.

“Why, Miss Lawson,” Shepard gasped, clutching her chest in mock horror, “Are you worried I’m going to get my heart broken?”

“Yes. You should be too.” The immediate reply was clinical, one eyebrow tilting like condemnation. Shepard felt the swell of laughter that had been rising in her throat shrivel and fade away. Miranda wasn’t just being serious, she was being sincere. The Commander knew exactly how rarely that happened.

“I’m trying to be her friend, that’s all. She kills time almost as easily as people and there’s never any bullshit.” The explanation sounded feeble, even to her own ears. It was a thin attempt at defense and about as effective as tissue armor. The midnight fantasies and electric chemistry had long since obliterated any idea of platonic friendship. The soldier knew she’d take anything she could get from Jack, but always want more. That kind of intensity, the longing to connect in any—every—way possible would not be ignored and sure as hell couldn’t be hidden either.

“Tell yourself that all you like, Shepard, but don’t try it on me. I know you better,” Miranda’s lovely mouth turned into a scornful frown, irritated by the flimsy deceit, “Two years of learning you from every detail I could get my hands on eventually pays off, you know. Your public documents, service record, psych evals, personal correspondence, awards ceremonies, interviews; I know your entire extranet viewing history and what you wrote in your mother’s birthday card when you were seven. You don’t have to be honest with me if you don’t want to, but don’t lie either.”

“My mother always threw those cards away.” Shepard could only clutch at the simplest argument, her whole head spinning as she tried to process the declaration of just how thoroughly she’d been dissected. Knowing they’d cut open her body and inserted new pieces paled in comparison to such an extensive, complete intellectual invasion.

“I’m _very_ good at my job.” Miranda didn’t bat an eye, cool and collected as ever and even a little proud of what she’d done. Privacy is a privilege of the living.

“And I’m the job.” The Commander scowled, reminded once more that to Cerberus she was a means to an end. A good end, certainly, but still the breathing equivalent of a loaded weapon to be pointed where they wished.

Damn it, she wanted to like Miranda! There was a level of complexity about the woman that was fascinating and she was absolutely unparalleled in the array of skills she brought to the table. Every time Shepard thought they could get along something like this happened. A calloused remark, a blunt dismissal of ethics, a pragmatism that went far beyond being practical and seemed to enjoy being harsh. The woman was like razor wire wrapped around a rock and thrown at your head.

“No, the Collectors are the job. The Reapers too,” the brunette’s hand cut the air, striking away the soldier’s words, “You are Commander Shepard and all that time I spent memorizing your every nuance still wasn’t enough to prepare me for who that is. You’re bloody impossible.”

“Thank you?” The soldier knew she wasn’t expected to reply, nor was she surprised when Miranda kept talking right over her.

“You’re also the only one who can make this mission a success. Humanity—the galaxy—needs us, they need you. _We_ have a job to do, Commander,” the biotic hesitated, a momentary flash of surprise and vulnerability playing across her face like a puzzle unlocking, “So, forgive me if I don’t care to see you get emotionally eviscerated by a criminal whose idea of intimacy starts and stops with her fists but,” another pause, Miranda fighting with herself to force the final words, “I can’t do this without you.”

“You won’t have to.” It was hard to find words amidst her spinning thoughts but that answer leapt out of Shepard’s mouth without even a second of hesitation. The reply rang with a determination and promise she remembered from when she first joined the Alliance. She might have hundreds of questions about every other aspect of her life but there was never any doubt about her duty. That commitment was iron in her assurance, an unbreakable vow that she would carry out her responsibilities, fulfill the mission and serve with valor, honor and integrity just as she had sworn years before.

Miranda’s posture relaxed, soothed by the promise and everything unspoken behind it.

“Then I’ll trust your judgment. Be careful, Shepard, and don’t get hurt.” The cool indifference of Miranda’s usual tone broke with the warmth of genuine concern. The glassy blue walls of her eyes softened, allowing a fleeting glimpse of naked emotion to flash through like a burst of galactic extranet downloaded in a single second. Respect, anxiety, pride, trust, suspicion, doubt, conviction; a world of complex thoughts and feelings poured out, like waters from a burst dam. She was friend, doctor, analyst, subordinate, savior, spy; everything all at once for just a split second before the walls slammed shut once more.

“I will, Miranda.” Shepard tried to find her bearings after such an intense moment of exposure, clearing her throat because a surprising confusion of emotions was trying to block her voice. “And thank you.”

The brunette tilted her head a fraction, a movement as subtle as the smile at the corner of her lips. Shepard might never have asked to be resurrected; truthfully, she probably would’ve preferred to be left resting in peace rather than fight this tooth and claw battle for a galactic future. But if she was going to be brought back, shoved onto the heroic pedestal and tossed into chaos once more, she was glad it was with Miranda. The woman had poured a piece of herself into the resurrected Commander. They’d forever be more alike than either would admit and bound in ways neither could fully understand.

ooo.oo0.o00.000.00O.0OO.OOO.OO0.O00.000.00o.0oo.ooo.

Jack hadn’t been this furious in weeks. In fact, as she stormed across the crew deck towards the elevator, she couldn’t remember the last time she felt so utterly unhinged. It was wonderful, the rush of rage that pumped raw energy and power through her blood. Anger was her everything: armor, fuel and weapon; it blocked out pain, focused her senses, silenced all thought beyond the killer instinct howling for death. She hadn’t felt this dangerous, this _unstoppable_ , for far too long. The ferocity was comfortingly familiar, like the worn grip of a favorite gun.

She flung herself into the elevator and punched the command to descend before she began to prowl the narrow space. Pleased as she was to tap back into this elusive potential for carnage, the causes and targets were still making a tangled mess of her mind. The clearest thread of hate led straight to Miranda. That one was easy. Condescending bitch, talking about Teltin and her past like she knew anything at all about what went on, what Jack had survived. Waves of crackling blue electricity licked up her fists at just the thought of that smug, superior face. She should’ve blasted her through the hull. Hell, she would’ve if Shepard hadn’t barged in.

That was another piece of the rage seething beneath Jack’s thoughts. Shepard. She scowled, stomping out of the lift and heading for Engineering, but then turning to pace back again. Her feet moved as unpredictably as her mind. She needed real space to think. The wide open corridor between the cargo holds offered room for her anger to spend itself, to spin and twist and race in different directions until she could let it loose.

Shepard just had to come in and play hero again. She had to put herself in the middle of a fight that wasn’t even hers. How the fuck did she make an argument that wasn’t about her suddenly feel like it was? Because neither of the biotics backed down out of consideration for the mission, Jack was sure of that; they backed down because of _her._ Everything was because of her. Especially the way Jack’s body felt like it didn’t belong to herself anymore. She could still feel the eezo in her system buzzing, like her blood was one of those damn fizzy drinks they served on Illium. It was new and wrong and getting worse. It was the entire reason she’d gone to see the Cerberus bitch in the first place.

Granted, storming into the cheerleader’s office with a loud demand to know “exactly what the fuck your assholes did to me,” wasn’t the best way to get answers. Violence and profanity were always Jack’s first resort when she was upset. Or excited, sad, happy, bored, horny; anytime, really. But Miranda didn’t respond well to either, and the way she rose to the fight promised that she’d been itching for an excuse to tear into Jack herself. Lately, the Cerberus woman looked at her with dangerous thoughts in her eyes and nasty insults right on the edge of her mouth. They had a hundred reasons to hate each other and the brunette’s gaze declared that she’d found number one hundred and _one_. Jack knew, instinctively and absolutely, that it was Shepard.

She saw the way Miranda backed down from the Commander, the faint flash of irritation mingled with hurt when they were both rebuked. There was a look of betrayal behind that bitchy mask. Jack should’ve been rejoicing at getting to see pain in those stupidly icy eyes but she was too fixated on knowing the cause. Protectiveness? Jealousy even? What was Shepard to Miranda and why the fuck did Jack care?!

Because it was Shepard. Just like everything else. Shepard, Shepard, Shepard –

“Fucking Shepard!” Jack’s arm lit up as she slammed a fist into the wall.

“Well, you might have to work her up to that.” The playful voice materialized out of thin air, along with its owner. Kasumi was leaning against the hull not two feet from where the biotic’s fist had landed. Jack cursed herself, she’d meant to hit much closer to the sneaky thief.

“You been following me for a reason?” The convict withdrew her hand, satisfied with the dent her knuckles had left. Compared to the very legitimate furies filling her thoughts, the presence of another person invisibly sliding along in her wake like a shadow had barely registered as more than an annoyance. But now it presented a welcome distraction.

“Curiosity.” Kasumi provided the obvious answer without any attempt at an excuse. “Not much lures you out of your hidey-hole so I thought something interesting might happen. Pity the Commander interrupted the show before it got good. Who would win between the two of you, I wonder?”

“I will fucking destroy her,” Jack leaned close, baring her teeth in the snarled reply, “Once this mission’s over, that Cerberus bitch is dead.”

“I meant between you and Shepard. The way you two drink and fight, I can’t help thinking it would be an even match.” Kasumi had an airy, fluttering laugh, much like the flitting lightness of her feet and fingers.

“She’s going to be pissed if she finds out you’ve spied on her.” Jack recalled the Commander’s frequent, irritated complaints about their resident thief’s invasions of her privacy.

“But you don’t care?” The woman tilted her head to one side, intrigued.

“I’ve got nothing to hide,” the biotic smirked, extending both her arms to emphasize the point.

“Oh really?” Goto straightened up, accepting the invitation to examine Jack from all angles, “Not even the fact that you’re worried about your biotics?”

“How the hell-,” Jack bit back her surprise a fraction of a second too late, confirming the thief’s assumption. She couldn’t see Kasumi’s eyes, but the hint of a victory in her smirk was telling.

“I couldn’t hear all of your fight with Miranda, but there was definitely more than Cerberus on your mind. I started wondering why you’d want to talk to her at all, why you’d even go near her so soon after Pragia,” Kasumi strolled casually around the biotic, a childlike bounce in her step, “But then I realized you didn’t want to, you _needed_ to. After that it was just a matter of figuring out why. What could you need from our Miss Lawson that you couldn’t get from anyone else? What do the two of you have in common?”

“Not one damned thing,” Jack snapped. If she’d had any hair on the back of her neck it would be standing on edge, tingling with the early warnings of danger. Kasumi’s absent, sing-song explanation was following a thread of thought unnervingly close to truth.

“Yes, one thing, Jack. More than that, actually,” Kasumi’s voice wandered off into the shadow of other secrets for a moment before coming back, “But only one that you’d acknowledge. She’s a biotic. Not a natural one like Samara or any other asari. She had to be constructed, implanted, given upgrades and artificial advantages like all the other human biotics. Just like you.”

“She is nothing like me.” Jack tried to harness her anger for an attack but it fled her control. The raw, shaking fury was held captive to the naked shock and curiosity paralyzing her thoughts.

“Missing the point, as usual,” Kasumi sighed, she stopped moving and faced the biotic, “If you’d just wanted to pick a fight over Cerberus, you could do it with half the people on this ship. You singled out Miranda. I can only think of two reasons for that: either your biotics are the common ground or there's a seriously messed up sexual attraction.”

“Fuck you.” The words were a reflex, protecting her stunned mind. It was like the woman had slipped into her head and seen the exact logic that led her to Miranda’s door. Samara didn’t have to rely on implants for her biotics and couldn’t understand malfunctions. Chakwas and Mordin were too much like the doctors that had built her body by taking apart every inch. That had only left her one infuriating, impossible choice.

“Maybe later,” Kasumi laughed, deliberately wetting her lips, “How about first you tell me what’s wrong? Losing your eezo edge?”

“Yeah right,” Jack snorted. That would actually be an easier problem to fix than this. The thief crossed her arms, exuding the silent confidence of a person willing to wait. After an irritated breath, the convict clenched her jaw but opened her mouth. “I’m getting overload. Too much field building up around my nodules. Discharging on its own or just buzzing around like I’ve got a fucking lightning rod shoved up my ass.”

“Quite the mental image.” Goto was delighted by the revelation. A hint of teeth bit into her bottom lip, playing with more words. “Has this ever happened before?”

“Hell no, I’d remember.” The ghost of recent sensations sent a wave of goosebumps and biotic electricity racing along her arms. The way the energy crackled beneath her skin, surging and coalescing like stormy waters looking for escape; no, she definitely would’ve remembered that.

“But it’s not constant.” Kasumi hadn’t missed the blue flare. She didn’t sound terribly concerned. Humanity’s most dangerous biotic had just admitted that she was losing control of her power and the thief acted like this was some amusing game.

“I’m not lighting up the ship in my sleep or frying everyone around me. But it’s always there, I can feel it, like a goddamn weapon waiting to be triggered.” Usually the potential for deadly violence wouldn’t bother Jack, but she didn’t have a grip on this. There was a world of difference between having a bomb in your hands and having it inside your bones.

“What kind of trigger? Something sets it off?” Thieves made their living by thinking through puzzles, noticing details that no one else saw. It shouldn’t have surprised Jack that Kasumi so easily zeroed in on the key fact but it caught her off guard.

_Not something. Someone._ Jack swallowed back the simple truth. She didn’t need to be thinking about that, let alone saying it out loud.

“I don’t know. I haven’t figured it out.” The biotic shrugged with the same casual apathy that she used to protect herself when Shepard’s questions got too close.

The lie was her best defense right now because she sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Goto about the surges of power that told her whenever the Commander was near. No one else needed to know how her body hummed under Shepard’s touch or unconsciously drew closer. She was used to the faint electrical feedback that accompanied someone else making contact with her skin, that wasn’t a surprise anymore. But the soldier didn’t even have to be touching her to make eezo light up along her every nerve. And when she did touch . . . Jack realized that her biotics were flaring again, just from the memory of Shepard’s hands on her. Fuck, she had absolutely no control over this!

“I don’t know much about biotics,” Kasumi admitted, thoughtful as she pondered the convict’s predicament, “But I do work with electricity all the time. That’s how the eezo works in you guys, right? It feeds off your nervous system?”

“Some shit like that,” Jack nodded, glaring at her hands as she willed the mass effect fields to dissipate.

“Well then, I think the solution should be fairly simple: you need an outlet for the extra electricity in your body. You’re wound up, Jack. You just need to blow off some steam.” There was an extra lilt of laughter in Goto’s voice as she announced her verdict, a joke that she wasn’t quite ready to share.

“I can’t keep putting dents in the walls. Girl Scout gets pissy.” The biotic frowned, eyes darting to her latest handiwork. Each fist-shaped scar in the metal hull granted momentary relief but she knew it was temporary and would only lead to a fight. Not that a fight was a bad idea, maybe Kasumi was right and she needed to burn off some of this excess energy that kept building up like an overheating engine.

“You get plenty of violence in your life. Your body must be craving a different outlet. Something more,” the thief’s tongue darted playfully across her lips again, “pleasurable.”

“Like what?” Jack’s mind was still circling around thoughts of finding a victim for her rage. Someone that could take a serious beating and fight back, make her work for the win. Maybe Kasumi wasn’t far off about Shepard. Just the thought of unleashing herself completely against the soldier was filling her blood with the euphoric warmth she remembered from her pit fight training. Shepard could probably handle her, might even get in a few good blows of her own. She’d try to hold back, of course, because she was such a goddamned girl scout but eventually she’d give in . . .

“You need to get laid, Jack.” Kasumi’s laughing words shattered any fantasy. The convict shook away the hazy pleasure that had started creeping into her thoughts with her imagination.

“You making me an offer?” Jack cocked one brow, a low rumble in the challenge intertwining her rasping growl with a purr. That was usually more than enough to scare off anyone with a shred of sense.

“Tempting as that is, I prefer being left to my own devices,” the thief’s smirk was a dozen flavors of wicked, “But I’m sure you have other options. If nothing else, go back to Miranda.”

“That better be a really sick joke.” The convict grimaced, irritation and disgust meeting in her throat.

“Perhaps, but you need someone who can hold their own against you, Jack. So far, I’ve only seen two.” With a final, cryptic smile Kasumi activated her personal cloaking device and vanished once again.

Jack scowled at the empty space, hypervigilant senses telling her the thief had genuinely left. That parting shot echoed in the chaos of her mind. Someone that could hold their own against a supercharged, uncontrolled biotic. Kasumi wasn’t wrong, Miranda probably could. But she’d said there were two. With a shiver that had nothing to do with her naked skin, Jack knew who the other was.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kasumi strikes me as a good ally/confidante for Jack. The thief is the only person in the game who finds out about Shepard and Jack's "moment" before the suicide mission, so I think the two criminals must share some kind of bond. Figured I'd have some fun fleshing it out.


	11. Power Surge

No.

Nobody said “no” to Jack. Not gang members or cult leaders or even the mercs running that hellhole prison she was shut up in. One look at the biotic and people knew that she didn’t respond well to that word. The last person that had tried was one of the scientists back when she was still a kid. It took three guards with tranq guns and electroshock rods to get her off the dumbass. She didn’t quite get to kill him, but he never came back. Probably never walked right again either. That was what happened when someone told Jack no.

_But not that fucking soldier._

Jack’s fingers were curled into the metal of a work bench, slowly denting the flat surface as her arms shook with barely contained frustration. It wasn’t just anger; that she would’ve been able to deal with easily enough. Fury chased confusion through her thoughts, twisted around shock and all of it wove together to block off the threads of disappointment that she absolutely refused to feel. Shepard said no. To sex, of all things! Jack was pretty sure that had _never_ happened to her before.

Well, not exactly “no.” A small voice of reason at the back of all the loud, violent emotions kept popping up, trying to be heard. Shepard hadn’t rejected her. In fact, in her own strange, infuriating way, she’d flipped the situation around and turned her denial into a promise.

_Bringing up sex was inevitable._

_From the moment that Kasumi suggested Jack get herself laid, the idea had barely left her alone. It slipped wickedly behind her thoughts, listened for the hints and signals of Shepard’s interest, darted her eyes over the soldier’s form with a new, intriguing appreciation. She’d always liked looking at the Commander, liked the back and forth of teasing insults, bullshit and threats that probably amounted to flirtation in their privacy beneath Engineering. But now there was a flicker of curiosity behind her gaze when she drank in the soldier’s mouth, deliciously curved in laughter. Now there was an uncomfortable throb in her core when she heard Shepard’s voice, wondered how she sounded when she was breathless, imagined hearing her beg. It would be so easy to fling all the tools off the derelict work bench, to seize the soldier’s body and mouth and fight for the right to make her scream first._

_The demand had shot out of her unexpectedly; rude and confrontational as everything else that came out of her mouth, more challenge than seduction, but the invitation was the same either way. Shepard had been giving the right signals and Jack’s itch had turned into a full-body fever. No point in beating around the bush. (Not with clothes on, anyway.)_

_As her words echoed off silent metal, waiting for the Commander to reply, Jack had a flash of doubt that maybe she’d read the situation wrong. Maybe all the long looks and flirting hints were just another fucked up game that people played. Fine. Either way, she needed to know. The biotic was sick to death of trying to figure out just what the soldier wanted from her. If this was just about sex then she could handle it, she knew what to do; needed it, even. But if that wasn’t what Shepard wanted. . ._

_“I’m in no hurry. I want to know what makes you tick, first,” the Commander shrugged. The nonchalant, honest answer was everything and nothing at once. It confirmed all of Jack’s suspicions, but refused to give her what she was after. The malicious, excited flash of triumph had barely sparked before it faded into angry, frustrated confusion. They both wanted this, so why did Shepard have to be such a damn stubborn idiot about it?_

_“You don’t need to know someone to sleep with them. You just have to know where to put it,” Jack spat the challenge, daring the soldier to let the accusation pass._

_She’d seen Shepard get angry before, knew how to push the button that fired up the soldier’s sense of righteous indignation. She wasn’t disappointed when the Commander spun on her with the same speed that would launch a lethal assault in battle. Jack’s muscles coiled, ready for attack but held her ground as the soldier stormed into her space, looming directly over her. She could feel the heat radiating off her, intense as the sound of her ragged breaths holding back words. For the space of a breath, heart beating loud in her ears, Jack wondered if she’d pushed too far or just far enough. She could see the danger in Shepard’s eyes, the urge to throw her against the wall and make her apologize in a moan.  The threat made her pride rise like a snarl on her tongue, but also pulled her unconsciously closer, the boiling heat of her blood pooling into her belly and seeping lower._

_Shepard’s fists were balled at her sides, either preparing an attack or reining it in. From this close, Jack could feel her biotics purring, reaching for the Commander. A crackling, electric echo told her that Shepard felt it too. She was close enough that a deep breath would have them touching; so close that Jack could lick her lips and taste the scent of the soldier’s sweat, maybe even the other  heavy fragrance climbing into the air around them as well. Any second now. In this heartbeat or the next Shepard was going to give in; going to grab her, drag her to the floor and prove exactly what this was all about and make it go away. Jack’s muscles were trembling from the effort of keeping her mass effect fields under control. Would she just hurry the fuck up and -!_

_“I know where, Jack,” the Commander’s voice was thick and low, full of a promise that was sweet and terrifying all at once, “And how. How hard, how fast, how long. That’s not ever going to be a problem.”_

_“Then what the fuck is?” The biotic hated that her voice hitched slightly, breaking as she imagined what Shepard wanted her to see._

_“That I also know when not to. It isn’t the right thing for you now.” The Commander took a decisive step back, severing any hope of following through on all those wicked ideas._

_“Don’t you dare pretend to know me, Shepard.” Jack was grateful that her sudden burst of rage silenced the disappointment clenching her chest._

_“Ok, I don’t,” the soldier admitted, yielding a little too easily but never breaking the gaze that had locked onto Jack’s eyes like a stasis field holding her in place, “But I will. I’m learning a little more about you every day. You haven’t scared me yet, and I’m ready for more anytime you’re ready to give it. That’s the real problem, Jack, I know what I want. Do you?”_

_All her sharp retorts and biting curses turned to rock in the biotic’s throat, then crumbled to ash and vanished. Thirty seconds ago she knew that answer. She’d always known what she wanted: survive, kill, use this shitty life and its pleasures to the full, and never, ever let anyone hurt her again. It wasn’t a grand purpose but it had worked. Until now. Now a storm of other desires that she would’ve laughed at or blown to pieces were rising up in the cracks of her thoughts and didn’t seem as ridiculous as they had before._

_They all started somewhere in this moment, or maybe a few weeks ago, and threaded through ideas of naked skin, tracing scars, the taste of sex and metal and this whole damn alcove echoing with their sounds. What frightened her was the fact that none of it stopped there. Tendrils of imagination crept further, unbidden, towards a hazy tomorrow. The thought of fucking Shepard once turned into again, and then again and again until she didn’t actually want to fuck anyone else. The metal decking in her mind gave way to tangled sheets; screaming profanity turned unmistakably breathless, drifting dangerously close to sighs. Jack’s thoughts recoiled in horror at the impossible fantasy that had seeped out of the same shadows that usually housed bloody death and revenge. Her deepest desires had never scared her before. Now they did._

_“That’s what I thought.” Shepard’s faint smile was patient, bittersweet in understanding. “Let me know when you figure out what you want, Jack. I can wait.”_

_The way she said it, like she already knew what the other woman was going to decide!_

No doubt about it. The soldier had a quad.

No matter how badly Jack wanted to simply be angry and insulted, a tiny part of her couldn’t help being impressed. Impressed and a little pleased. Granted, she didn’t get the good, hard fuck that her humming nerves and aching muscles were telling her she needed; but she got a promise. She got to see the dark swirl of desire suck up the color in Shepard’s eyes and the laughter vanish from her voice. The Commander’s discipline had cracked, her control was shaken and, for a split second, Jack saw the sheer depth and intensity of naked _want_ in the woman. Just the memory of that look made her breath catch.

The hum beneath Jack’s skin was at an all-time high. She felt like her insides were vibrating so hard she was going to shake her teeth loose. She hadn’t connected the dots before, but now it was as obvious as a bullet between the eyes: it was her attraction to Shepard that made her wiring go nuts, electrical signals shooting in every direction like fireworks going off in her bones. Jack didn’t get attracted to people, (and she certainly never used that word) she saw nothing but dangers and tricks in everyone, potential body counts. Right now, however, the buzzing eezo coursing along her nerves argued that there was a first time for everything. Wound up, turned on, horny as hell; by whatever phrase she used, the fact was still the same. _You need to get laid,_ Kasumi’s lilting advice laughed from within her head. Even if Jack was secretly pleased on some twisted, deeply irrational and utterly subconscious level that the Commander wanted more than a quick fuck; that didn’t change the fact that the biotic’s body was primed for sex and she wasn’t getting any.

“Shit.” Jack flung herself onto her bunk and yanked her pants open. There wasn’t anyone else on this god-forsaken ship she was interested in using and if she didn’t do something to release all this built up energy she was going to explode.

One hand slid between her legs, meeting bare skin that was already hot and pulsing in time with her heartbeat. She growled, feeling the wetness on her fingers and the jolt of surprise that jerked her hips when she slid deeper. Too sensitive, too damn excited. It had been over an hour since the soldier left, how was she still this turned on? The answer, as it had so many times before, floated up behind her eyes with smug pity: because it was Shepard.

_Fuck her!_

Jack, contrary to that thought, stilled her hand completely. She bit into her lip, tasting blood and waiting for the pain to focus her mind. Not fucking Shepard. The goddamn Girl Scout had missed her chance. No way was she going to finger herself to thoughts of the Commander. Not her mouth or voice, not the heat in her eyes or the grip that pressed against Jack’s skin and pulled out every amp of electricity she had racing through her body. Not. Shepard.

Who did that leave? Jack’s fingers glided through the slickness between her legs, little more than a reminder of her purpose. Kasumi was out; too hard to fantasize about someone when you could barely see their eyes. Thane was too depressing. Garrus wasn’t bad but Jack had already screwed her lifetime’s supply of turians. Samara was hot, too bad she was about as interesting as a chunk of pretty rock. Jacob – _no._ Jack was just starting to think she’d have to settle for the cute engineer that was always tiptoeing around over her head when one another face swam into her mind’s eye.

Miranda. Yeah, why not? Hate could be hot. Cerberus bitch would look good down on her knees. She was a biotic too, so she’d probably know Jack’s favorite trick. The convict concentrated along her hand, letting the electricity flow over her wrist until light blue wisps wreathed all her fingers. The low vibration was pleasant, nestled there against her sex, but all too quickly she wanted more. Yes, Miranda looked like she knew her way around biotics and the bedroom. She had that buried, kinky vibe. She’d definitely know how to do this.

Jack let her head fall back against the wall behind her bunk, imagining dark brown hair strewn messily across her thighs. The Cheerleader would complain and snark and probably try to fight, but she’d end up knuckle deep in her enemy all the same. A low growl fell from Jack’s lips as she began moving her fingers, finding the angle and speed that coaxed the waves of pleasure to rise more quickly, spread further, break harder in her throat when she gasped. She arched her back, meeting the hard surface of the wall. Except it wasn’t the wall anymore. Sweat was forming in prickling drops at the base of her spine and Jack felt Shepard’s armor behind her, cold and unyielding as she pressed into it. Her own panting echoed off the walls of the alcove, bouncing back to her as the soldier’s shallow breath against her ear, ragged sighs interspersed with stifled whispers.

Jack didn’t realize her fingers had stopped their biotic buzz. She’d stopped imagining Miranda on the floor between her knees, gripped instead by the memory of the soldier clutching her tight in her arms. Her hips rose to meet each desperate thrust, wondering how many fingers Shepard would use. She’d know how to be rough. Sure, she played the polite, gentle do-gooder but Jack had seen past that today. There was a desperate passion locked behind all that control, begging to be set free, aching to take every inch of Jack’s body and make her shatter to pieces. She would fuck her. Hard. Jack moaned, riding her fingers faster, breath coming in broken pants and she could feel the straps of her harness biting a wide bruise into her back where it was pinned between hull and skin.

Her free hand snaked down across her stomach, fingers spread wide over the clenching muscle. She remembered the feel of Shepard’s hand in the same spot, holding her so tightly, pulling her close. That strength could hold her in place, no matter how her body thrashed or her biotics threatened to break free. Jack’s nails dug into flesh, mirroring the sting of the soldier’s bruising grip as she pressed forward, grinding into the palm of the hand pleasuring her.

  _Fuck . . .Shepard, like that . . .harder . ._

The cold metal at her back was a sharp contrast to the heat burning all over her skin and the air was heavy with her scent. Wetness over her fingers increased with each stroke as she hit the perfect spot inside herself and silently moaned her imaginary lover’s name every time.

_Don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop . . . fuck, fuckShepardfuck –_

“Fuck!” The climax caught her by surprise, snapping her back into a rigid arch as all her muscles clamped down. The world was wreathed in blue light, arcing around her in every direction before exploding outward in a pulsating wave that matched the spasms of her body. Her inner walls clamped so tight it felt like she was going to break her own hand but Jack couldn’t think about the pain, couldn’t feel anything beyond the rolling pleasure like white noise roaring across her senses.

She dropped back against the bunk, collapsing to one side with her fingers still buried between her legs, vaguely aware of the sticky release dribbling over her wrist and smearing her thighs. Jack had never come that fast from her own touch. Certainly never that hard. She started to pull her hand away but the movement within her clenching inner walls set off another violent aftershock and she trembled against the thin mattress, groaning in surrender.

It was several minutes before her breathing had evened out of the ragged gasps that echoed for so long off the dark metal walls. She didn’t have the energy to sit up, but even sprawled out on the bunk as she was, she could see that tools from the work bench had been sent flying. One digital calibration tool was embedded halfway through the hull. Another had been twisted into an impossible shape. Obviously, she’d succeeded in releasing some of her excess energy.

It didn’t feel like much of a victory. Recalling the images that had played behind her mind in the seconds before her muscles snapped and succumbed to ecstasy only underscored a sense of helpless surrender. Shepard didn’t even have to be present in person. Jack’s longing conjured her out of thin air and her body responded as if the soldier was right there, coaxing her to the most powerful high she could remember in years. The Commander’s face drifted behind Jack’s eyes and she clenched her jaw, stifling a frustrated moan of defeat. Shepard hadn’t even been here to fuck her, yet she was well and truly fucked.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, if anyone thinks I need to up the rating, I will. Still a bit wary of working with graphic content so feedback would be incredibly useful! Also, predictions/commentary/questions are welcome too.

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into Subject Shepard romance, trying to get a handle on the characters and voices. Feedback/refinement welcome.


End file.
